


Bullet with Butterfly Wings

by CloudMenaceBird



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bumping up on post-canon, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Persona 3 References, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Self-Harm, canon divergence - slightly, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 85,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudMenaceBird/pseuds/CloudMenaceBird
Summary: “Welcome to the Velvet Room,” the man says, gesturing with one of his too-long arms at the unstable space around them. His voice sounds surprisingly kind and wizened, and it should probably be reassuring, but it just serves to put Goro even more on edge. “I am Igor, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”“Wha-“ Goro tries, but his voice is shaky and small in a way that makes him sound years younger than his actual age – which isunacceptable, and he has to swallow hard, before he can try again. “What-whereis this?”“This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter,” the old man says, as if that’s actually an explanation.Akechi wakes up in the Velvet Room after dealing with the ruler of Royal's final palace.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 199
Kudos: 545
Collections: Marigolds Discord Recs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I haven't written anything in forever and I'm feeling super rusty but I've been completely obsessed with Royal and the way they changed Akechi's confidant compared to Vanilla P5 - I had to write something! I can't stop trying to explain away that post credits scene, hopefully someone else will get some enjoyment out of the ideas that have been bouncing around in my head.
> 
> Title comes from The Smashing Pumpkins song of the same name, their entire discography just really fits Protag and Akechi.

Goro Akechi rises from the depths of unconsciousness slowly and in a muggy, confused daze. He feels lethargic and sleepy as he tries to move, only to jerk awake reflexively before he can fall forwards and out of the plush wing-back chair he’s sitting in – for some _unfathomable_ reason.

His mouth goes completely dry when he opens his eyes, and he blinks uncomprehendingly as he tries to absorb the _situation_ he’s found himself in.

What the _fuck_?

Everything around him fades in and out in a way reminiscent of the safe rooms in the metaverse, the main difference is that this room continues cycling, as if it can’t seem to settle on one form. It looks like an office, a bar, a prison, an elevator, then the interior of a high-end limousine – it changes so frequently that he struggles to keep up.

The only consistency is the colour – everything is blue. A shade of blue that feels familiar in a way that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s hit by a dizzying wave of vertigo when he tries to concentrate, and his hands grip the arms of the blue chair tightly, knuckles white as his fingers dig into the velvet upholstery – the feeling is uneven and a little strange, and he dimly registers that one of his gloves is missing. 

Panic bubbles in his gut and up into his throat, he has a surge of adrenaline as his fight or flight instinct kicks in, but it’s futile. He may not be physically restrained, but Goro finds that he might as well be – he can’t get up out of the chair or do much of anything, other than clawing again at the fabric under his fingers.

After a few fruitless attempts, he has to accept that he can’t summon a persona either. 

Hereward is just as silent as Loki and Robin Hood.

 _Shit_.

He closes his eyes to shut out the information overload from the constantly shifting environment, and tries desperately to string a coherent thought together.

His mind is so uncharacteristically jumbled that frustration quickly joins the roiling emotions that he’s trying his best to keep at bay. The adrenaline coursing through him might not have helped him get to his feet, but it has cleared his head slightly, enough that when he grits his teeth and puts everything he has into focussing, he manages to pull at the dangling thread of his most recent memory. A few blurry images come back to him _(Maruki's Palace, fighting a persona the size of a building, and the reluctant pride he’d felt as Joker shot it in the face_ ), and it’s enough for some of the pieces to click back into place. The last thing he knows for certain is that he had fought and won, working together with the Phantom Thieves to destroy that man’s warped reality. 

The warped reality that his very existence was supposed to be dependent on.

Isn’t he supposed to be _dead_?

His eyes snap back open at the thought, and his reward is more visceral alarm when he realises that he’s not alone in the room anymore. 

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop the undignified yelp that tries to escape from his mouth, and the sharp little jolt of pain helps to ground him while he tries to understand what exactly he’s looking at.

Mercifully, the room has settled to some degree; now just appearing as a dark and nondescript box that’s murky and blurry around the edges, making it impossible to tell how large the space actually is. There’s a dim light in the centre of the room, illuminating the wooden desk that is now in front of him, and sitting behind that desk is the strangest looking old man he’s ever seen. That itchy sense of almost recognition gets worse as he takes in the bulging bloodshot eyes and ridiculously long nose on the man’s face. Goro doesn’t miss the unnaturally sharp points at the end of his ears either, his grotesque appearance is so extreme and so _wrong_ that even if their surroundings were normal, then this unnerving old man would be more than enough proof that this isn’t the real world.

“Welcome to the Velvet Room,” the man says, gesturing with one of his too-long arms at the unstable space around them. His voice sounds surprisingly kind and wizened, and it should probably be reassuring, but it just serves to put Goro even more on edge. “I am Igor, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Wha-“ Goro tries, but his voice is shaky and small in a way that makes him sound years younger than his actual age – which is _unacceptable_ , and he has to swallow hard, before he can try again. “What- _where_ is this?”

“This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter.” The old man says, as if that’s actually an explanation. 

The room's appearance shifts once more, and suddenly there are impossibly tall windows behind the desk. The bright blue light coming through them makes Goro squint, but not so much that he doesn’t clock the row of figures looming behind the man’s desk – he counts four silhouettes of varying heights before the windows are gone, and they disappear back into the gloom.

Panicky fear tries to take hold of him again, but he has a better handle on it now, and it’s immediately crushed under the boot heel of his anger. _Nothing_ enrages him more than feeling lost and powerless. Anger is good though, _familiar_ , Goro is almost comforted by the feeling of it burning under his skin.

“Why am I here?” he tries again, and his voice comes out stronger this time.

The old man doesn’t answer, and just raises one gloved hand slightly (Goro can’t help but notice how his fingers are _also_ far too long and unpleasantly spidery) to wave someone forward.

All four figures step out from the shadows behind the old man in unison, flanking his desk on either side, and when Goro gets a proper look at them he's thrown for a loop all over again by the sheer strangeness of this situation. On the right there’s a serious looking young man, dressed in what appears to be a bellhop uniform, he has his hand on a little girl's shoulder – the butterfly barrettes in her hair sparkle prettily in the dim light, and he realises that he recognises her, but his memories are still too blurry around the edges to place the girl. Exactly where he remembers her from, and even just her name escapes him. 

Because his brain actually working the way it’s supposed to would be too _fucking_ _easy_ , apparently – instead of just sitting between his ears like useless mush.

He forces his attention back to the, for lack of a better term, _people_ in front of him. There are two women standing to the left of the desk; one is the picture of elegance with long wavy hair, and there’s something about her gentle expression that painfully reminds Goro of his mother (on one of her good days), while the other one has her hair cut into a blunt bob, and is dressed like an old-fashioned elevator girl. They’re both wearing small smiles, but the one with the bob looks more amused than kind. 

Goro wishes he knew what was so _goddamn_ funny.

Which is an utterly _futile_ train of thought that he smothers quickly, trying instead to catalogue any details he can – he knows, from experience, that any tiny scrap of information can be vital. 

They all have the same ethereal beauty about them, the same striking and vaguely western features (although he doubts they are from any country in his world), and the same platinum blonde hair. Four pairs of identical, unsettlingly bright yellow eyes stare at him. Similar to, but completely different from, the ones belonging to the many shadows that Goro has corrupted or destroyed in the years he has spent pursuing his revenge – he sees none of the animalistic anger or base desires that he associates with shadows in their eyes, however. He doesn’t know what _that_ means, which is starting to feel like a trend.

And, of course, they’re all wearing the same shade of fucking _blue_ , he thinks to himself sourly.

Some of his annoyance must show on his face because the woman with the wavy hair speaks up. 

“Please, forgive my Master,” she starts, her speaking voice is refined and soft, but nonetheless commanding. “He is still recovering, and we have a great deal to talk about. It might be best if my siblings and I do most of the conversing on his behalf.”

“As long as _someone_ explains what’s going on,” it comes out much more snippy than he intended, he’s usually _so good_ at hiding how he’s feeling (he’s usually the _king_ of bullshit mountain), but his tongue is, seemingly, determined to be just as uncooperative as the rest of his body. 

Fantastic.

“I am Margaret,” she says, and if she’s bothered by Goro's attitude she doesn’t show it. “These are my siblings-“

She gestures to each one of them in turn, starting with the elevator girl and ending with the small child.

“-Elizabeth, Theodore and, I believe that you’ve already met my youngest sister, Lavenza.”

The name breaks through a little of the haze in his head, and he remembers snippets of a Phantom Thieves meeting in the nurse's office of Shujin Academy, the air heavy with their uneasy truce. The memory does absolutely _nothing_ to help him understand why he’s here. 

He can’t quite find it in himself to be surprised.

“Our Master wishes to speak with you because you have become untethered from your reality-“

“That is an interesting euphemism for dead, Margaret-san.” Goro interrupts her, unable to stop himself.

Margaret regards him for a few uncomfortable seconds, her expression is still neutral but her eyes are hard (he’s not so confident, all of a sudden, that they actually _were_ gentle before), and Goro sees how nervous her siblings become at his interruption. He decides, for the moment at least, not to push his luck any further. It’s not as if he has the means to defend himself in this bizarre situation, after all.

“There is no reason to be afraid,” she says, in that soft voice, and Goro immediately fails, spectacularly, at his previous resolution when he can’t stop his upper lip from curling in disgust. He does manage to hold in the sharp retort that burns on the tip of his tongue, at least.

“You are not dead.” She says it in a matter of fact tone, as if she hadn’t just upended the _one and only_ thing that Goro was relatively sure of.

His mind is racing again, because he _knows_ that they defeated Maruki. He had felt reality shifting back to something more normal, more _right_ , before his consciousness had slipped away, and he woke up in this surreal nightmare.

Maruki himself had all but confirmed it, hadn't he? That night in Leblanc, when they gave him the calling card – that his being alive from the end of December onwards had been a part of Ren's wish. 

Goro still refuses to give _that_ particular fact more than fleeting recognition, he can’t afford to go down that rabbit hole right now. 

And he shouldn’t have to! He was _supposed_ to have winked out of existence once they stole that counsellor's treasure, still blissfully ignorant as to why _anyone_ would actually want him around. Least of all, someone he’d tried to kill twice.

Margaret apparently decides to take pity on him, because she elaborates on her previous statement without any prompting.

“That is to say – that you were never dead to begin with.” 

All of the air seems to rush out of Goro’s lungs at once – he feels a little like everything shifts sideways as his vision blurs and there's a distant ringing sound in his ears. He wonders, in a detached sort of way, if he’s about to faint. Would he be allowed to slip to the floor? Or would he remain stuck to this cursed chair regardless?

It takes several deep and shuddering breaths before he can regain his composure somewhat, and when he finally looks back up – it’s to five pairs of eyes watching him with infuriating patience. He’s still angry, but he’s also just so _incredibly_ _tired_ , exhausted to the point that everything about him feels heavy.

“I was shot twice, and killed in Shido's palace,” he starts, absolutely _hating_ how desperate he sounds. “I could have shrugged off the first one. Maybe. But I can _remember_ the second bullet hitting me right here-“ and, miracle of _fucking miracles_ , his hand obeys, and he’s able to tap the spot on his chest with a shaky fist “- I _remember_ bleeding out.

“I sacrificed myself, so that the Phantom Thieves could escape-“ he cuts himself off at the realisation that he feels _robbed,_ of all things. 

Dropping that bulkhead door had felt like the only time he'd _ever_ made the right choice, especially since everything he’d done to stop Maruki has, essentially, been undone. He remembers thinking some stupid bullshit about redemption through death, as his life-blood had drained from him and pooled on the floor of the ship’s engine room. 

It’s humiliating, and it makes him feel incredibly and embarrassingly _pathetic_.

“Compared to a normal human, it is difficult for a persona user to die in the Sea of Souls-“ Elizabeth is speaking now, and Goro does his best to push his shame aside to focus on what she’s saying “-but for a persona user who also possesses the potential of the Wild Card? Except for in some very exceptional circumstances, it is impossible for them to truly die in a realm made entirely of another’s cognition.” Any trace of the amusement that was on her face earlier is gone – he thinks he might hear sympathy in her voice, or sadness. 

He has a gut feeling that it’s not actually directed at him. 

Good.

“The Wild Card?” he asks, bewildered.

“The inborn ability to form contracts with and fuse multiple personas.” Theodore answers this time, eyeing Elizabeth a little warily as he does.

Goro is well aware of the fact that his powers are different from those of the Phantom Thieves; Loki gave him the ability to contaminate the cognition of others with madness, and he can change his appearance in the metaverse, becoming friend or foe as the situation demanded – all extremely useful implements in his assassin’s toolbox. He can also summon more than one persona – or at least he _could_ , he’s unsure if he still has that ability after Hereward awakened in him, but he also knows that he can’t do what they’re implying he should be able to. 

An image of Ren, or rather Joker, effortlessly changing personas on the fly to adapt to any situation flashes through his mind. There’s a familiar bitter taste in his mouth, he has a feeling that he knows what’s coming.

“ _I can’t do that_.” Goro bites out between gritted teeth.

“Ah, yes. Well, you were never given a true invitation to the Velvet Room, or assigned an attendant.” Theodore continues. “And, therefore, never given the opportunity to realise your true potential.”

And there it is, another thing that Ren Amamiya had been handed on a silver _fucking_ platter, while he'd been left to grope blindly in the dark (or go crawling to his asshole of a father), for any understanding of how the metaverse or his powers worked.

It’s not _fair_ – the childish thought comes, unbidden and not for the first time, chased immediately by shame and envy in equal parts. 

Goro would laugh if he didn’t feel like he was going to choke on the bile rising up and into the back of his throat. 

He forces himself to listen, as Theodore recounts how an entity called Yaldabaoth had taken Igor’s form, with the specific purpose of making a bet with itself and pitting Goro and Ren against each other in some rigged cosmic game. It should be funny, he used to justify so much of the awful shit he did by telling himself that his powers had been bestowed upon him by the gods, and it was _actually true_ – just for entirely different, and far less flattering reasons than he'd thought.

He _does_ know the name of this god, because Ren had given him a truncated version of events, when they’d met in the Laundromat across from Leblanc in the January that never happened. Ren had left out some of the crucial details regarding Yaldabaoth’s intentions for him, however – probably out of a misguided desire to spare his feelings.

Insufferable, sentimental _fool_.

He clenches his jaw so hard that he can feel his teeth strain in their sockets under the force of it, not trusting himself to remain silent as the explanation continues otherwise. He bites down even harder when it’s mentioned, specifically, about how close bonds are translated directly into strength for people with this Wild Card ability. 

And, _of course,_ forming said bonds was something that Yaldabaoth had encouraged for Ren and discouraged for him. It only reinforces his feeling of being an oblivious rat in an incredibly cruel experiment.

“I was never visited by this _Yaldabaoth_.” Goro says, when Theodore finishes, more for confirmation than anything else. He might be a lot of things, but he’s not _stupid_ , the unpleasant déjà vu feeling he’s been having this whole time has to be coming from somewhere.

“He visited both of you in your sleep-“ Lavenza says, taking over “-but only _my_ guest was allowed to remember in his waking mind. It was what was considered necessary for you to complete your respective roles.” 

Goro lets his head fall back with a thud against the high back of the chair, and fixes his eyes on a random spot in the blue murk over Igor’s shoulder. He feels that laugh (or maybe it’s actually a sob) trying to come up, at the same time that tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Had he _ever_ been in control of his life? 

Did he only exist to be used as a pawn by those with power?

“What happened after the engine room?” he asks, and thankfully, his voice comes out far more serene than he feels. “I have no memories between what I assumed was my death, and when I was pulled into that counsellor’s reality on Christmas Eve.”

“When a human with the ability of the Wild Card comes close to death while immersed in the Sea of Souls, their essence is returned to the Velvet Room. Where our Master, or one of us in his absence, uses the power of their strongest relationships to heal their soul and restore their strength...” Lavenza trails off, as if she’s uncomfortable with saying what comes next.

And why _wouldn’t_ she be? Goro thinks to himself with something approaching hysteria. 

“So, I’ve just been loitering in what is, essentially, _limbo_ , because I haven’t made enough _bonds-_ ” he stops for a moment to take a breath and a little of that mad laughter escapes on the exhale. “Let’s speak _plainly_ , shall we? It’s because I don’t have a _single_ person who cares enough about me for it to have made a difference.”

He watches the little girl flinch slightly, her gaze dropping away from his and to a spot on the ground in front of her feet. He _should_ probably feel ashamed of the little burst of vindictive glee he gets from breaking her composure. 

He doesn’t.

“It is not quite as simple as that.” Theodore admonishes, returning his hand to Lavenza's shoulder, and squeezing reassuringly, in such an unconsciously affectionate gesture that it makes the bitter thing in Goro’s chest hurt. “It _is_ true, that you have far fewer connections than any guest we have hosted before-“

Goro snorts derisively, but Theodore continues undeterred.

“-but you have one that is so strong, that not only has it kept the very essence of your being safe here, it also protected you from further interference from Yaldabaoth. That _pretender_ had hoped to use you as a trump card in the final battle, but you were shielded from his influence. We have been keeping watch over you here, ever since Yaldabaoth's defeat, in the hope that you would come back to yourself.”

Goro might understand what Theodore just said, _technically_ , but there’s no way he’s going to actually try to think in depth about what exactly it all actually implies – specifically, regarding the relationship that they’re obviously referring to. He is nothing if not an expert at shoving aside his feelings when they aren’t revenge-related.

“Until Maruki forcefully returned me to the real world.” 

“Exactly.” Theodore sounds relieved that what he’s said has gotten through to him without eliciting an unpleasant response. “Your soul returned to our care again, once that man’s dream was unravelled.” 

“What changed then?” Goro asks. “Why am I awake and aware now?”

Theodore raises one gloved hand to his chin in a delicate, contemplative way that mirrors some of Goro's own affected mannerisms so well that he wonders if it’s intentional. Which he knows is _definitely_ paranoid, but he also knows that it doesn’t mean that it’s _not_ true.

“Your short time spent in that distorted reality not only let you forge some additional fledgling relationships-“ Theodore explains, and Goro briefly thinks of the Phantom Thieves (Haru Okumura and Futaba Sakura in particular), happy to fight alongside him against Maruki. It hadn’t been forgiveness, he wasn’t deluded enough to think he deserved that, but it had been acceptance and understanding. “-but you also strengthened the very same bond that saved you from Yaldabaoth. Your connection to the other bearer of the Wild Card is so strong that you even managed to perform a persona fusion outside of the Velvet Room. Is it so surprising, really – that it might cause you to awaken once more?”

Goro thinks he might feel his eyebrows try to climb up into his hairline. Persona _fusion_? Was he talking about Hereward? He had heard from the other Phantom Thieves and seen first hand how their personas had changed over time, but no one had ever mentioned anything about 'fusion'.

“Your companions progressed one persona through increasingly powerful forms, by finding strength in their own convictions and self acceptance.” Margaret says, as if reading his mind. “You, however, took the essences of Loki and Robin Hood from within your heart, and without even realising it, used your bond with the other Wild Card as a conduit to fuse them to become Hereward.”

He mulls, unhappily, on this new information for a few moments. He can remember the strange but exhilarating rush he’d felt when he’d awakened Hereward – so relieved, and secretly proud, that Ren had stood fast in the face of Maruki’s attempts to manipulate him. 

He collects his thoughts and schools his expression as best he can before speaking again.

“If everything you’ve told me is true – and obviously I don’t really have any choice here, other than to take what you’ve said at face value – what happens now?”

Igor clears his throat, and Goro makes himself meet those unnerving eyes – trying not to think about the way they look like they might just pop out of their sockets any second now. 

“Your progress has been impressive, but slow, and we are reaching the limit of our powers. The Velvet Room is not equipped to maintain a human soul indefinitely, but – now that you are finally awake, and your consciousness has stabilised… Well, we may have the means to force the issue.”

Before Goro can even begin to ask what exactly _that_ entails, a clock begins to chime loudly – the sound of it coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and the room seems to physically shudder around them. He watches with bewildered fascination as shapes in the gloom become more and more defined, until they are surrounded by the prison that he had briefly glimpsed earlier. 

“It is time, Master.” Lavenza says, stepping forward and walking briskly until she's just in front of the desk and to Goro’s right. Her gaze is fixed firmly on some point behind the chair he’s sitting in, and he desperately wants to turn to look, but his body _still_ refuses to cooperate.

He hears what sounds like old bed springs, creak from a few feet behind him, followed by a familiar sounding yawn. 

_Shit_.

Goro feels his stomach drop and bounce back up into his throat like it’s on a bungee line, and his heart is suddenly pounding in his ears. 

How many mornings had he heard that yawn? Standing together on the train platform, playing at being normal teenagers.

“What’s with the chair?” Ren Amamiya's voice breaks the heavy silence. He sounds tired but amused.

Goro swallows thickly, still hidden by his ornate wing-back prison – and how fitting did that seem now? He spends the last few seconds before he's discovered being unable to decide if he’s grateful to be alive, or if he wishes that he was dead after all.

It’s _mortifying_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! Thank you so much for the comments and the kudos! We're going with Ren's POV this chapter and I don't find him as easy to write as Akechi... so hopefully it came out okay, ha.

Ren Amamiya stares up at the ceiling of his attic bedroom in Leblanc. 

Tomorrow is his last full day here before he has to go home, and no matter how hard he tries; he simply cannot fall asleep.

He’s dreading going back there, dreading the too long train journey home to a lukewarm reception from all of the people who had so casually disowned him before. 

Ren knows that the only reason his parents seem even a little happy about him coming home, is because his record is now squeaky-clean. The charges from Shido have been thrown out, and his most recent stint in detention has had to be kept secret, for 'security reasons' – he’s still fuzzy on the details there. All he knows for sure is that Sojiro and Makoto's sister had been whispering about it right after his release, and the only thing he'd been able to catch was the name ‘Kirijo’. 

He still doesn’t understand what a trading company might have to do with him, or his situation.

He’s thought about asking Futaba to look into it a couple of times, but he’s also just, honestly, reached the point where he doesn’t really care.

Sae Niijima had told him to let her take care of everything, and he _had_ tried, it’s why he was willing to turn himself in to the police on Christmas Eve – even though just the sight of their uniforms still makes his chest go all tight and uncomfortable. And it had all been for nothing, ultimately, because they hadn’t been able to make any of the metaverse related charges stick to Shido in the end, even with his testimony.

Thankfully, the change of heart had made Shido more than willing to confess to his more traditional crimes – so it's not like he's going anywhere anytime soon. Which is great and all, but it still doesn’t do anything to change the fact that he went into juvenile detention for essentially no reason.

He doesn’t blame Sae Niijima, not really, he knows that she tried her best, but he’s feeling... _disillusioned,_ and that makes it hard to get worked up about what some faceless adults are doing behind the scenes.

He’s more focussed on how his parents are probably going to lap up playing the victims now. He can already hear them pretending that they sent him away for his own safety, and he’ll have to smile and nod along with them – they’d never admit that it was because they were more concerned with whispering neighbours than with what had actually happened. 

Is it any wonder that he can’t sleep?

Morgana however, has not had the same problem – snoring softly away on Ren's chest. Do normal cats snore? Ren wonders, or is it a weird cognitive side effect of knowing that Morgana can talk? 

His friend looks fuzzy and unformed in the dark, his weight is warm and reassuring, and Ren has to resist the urge to run his fingers through soft fur. He doesn’t think that Morgana would appreciate being woken up, and while misery may love company, he’s not in any rush to get an arm full of needle-sharp claws and teeth for his trouble.

He’s counting the star stickers on the beams of his ceiling for what feels like the hundredth time, when his thoughts drift (as they often do when he can’t sleep) to the single leather glove that he knows is still in the pocket of his jacket, and to the black and white uniform tie that he has surreptitiously hidden under his mattress. He lets his left hand flop down at the side of the bed, waiting a few beats (he needs to be sure that Morgana isn’t going to stir), before running his fingers under the seam of the mattress until they catch on the material of the tie, and he can pull it free gently.

He loops it around his fist and brings it up to his face in the dark, any traces of the smell it once held (a mixture of Akechi’s pretentious cologne and his laundry detergent), are long gone. It’s not surprising, he’s had it since Akechi left it here, presumably by accident (because it would be _super weird_ if it had been intentional), during a Phantom Thieves meeting in November. It had easily gotten lost in the shuffle when Ren had been sorting through their equipment, before they infiltrated the casino palace for the last time.

Ren had found it again when he was cleaning his room to stave off boredom, that first week when he was legally dead and supposed to be in hiding. He remembers shoving it, compulsively, under the nearest pile of junk on his desk – hiding it like a demented squirrel storing nuts for the winter, before Morgana could see it.

Once he had found it a more permanent hiding place, he’d managed to be a little more sneaky with the tie – only taking it out the rare times when he’s truly alone, or like now, when Morgana is in such a deep sleep that he doesn’t have to worry about being caught. 

It would be hard to explain why exactly he feels so attached to it when he’s barely able to admit it to himself.

Because, if he’s being completely honest, he knows that if it was just that he thought Akechi was hot, it wouldn’t be such a big deal – Ren has a _lot_ of attractive friends, after all. He’s used to ignoring pretty faces, and even the occasional confession, for the sake of the team, the mission, or for the simple fact that he’s only here short term and the idea of getting into a relationship that starts with an expiration date just makes him uncomfortable. 

But truthfully, he knows that if Akechi had ever crossed the line and acted on that weird chemistry they had, that all of his noble reasons for avoiding getting involved with someone while he was in Tokyo would have just mysteriously disappeared – maybe even if it had happened in November, when they knew that Akechi was gearing up to betray them.

Maybe _especially_ if it had happened in November.

His grip on the tie tightens a little at the thought. What is _wrong_ with him?

How can he even _begin_ to unpack having semi-serious feelings for the person who had essentially murdered him? 

Especially when that person also happens to be dead?

There’s a familiar feeling of dull regret sitting unpleasantly in his stomach. He’d told himself that he was going to return the tie and the glove to Akechi after they stole Maruki-sensei’s treasure. He had been so _sure_ that when the dust had settled after the battle that Akechi would still be there with the rest of them, that through sheer force of will they’d be granted a real second chance. 

Hadn’t they been through enough to deserve one? 

And it had worked with Morgana after the fight with Yaldabaoth, right? The power of love and friendship was supposed to count for something when it came to all this cognitive stuff, like they had all been basically living in one of the cheesy shounen manga that Ryuji loves – nobody was supposed to _stay_ dead. 

He’s feeling uncharacteristically bitter, it hadn’t seemed possible that he would actually lose Akechi again.

He closes his eyes and exhales slowly through his nose, pushing the thought as far away as possible – pretending it’s in the air leaving his lungs. It’s only when it takes considerable effort for him to open his eyes again, that he realises that they’re starting to get heavy in the inorganic way that he associates with being summoned to the Velvet Room.

Well, okay.

That’s one way to finally get some sleep. 

His eyelids are closing again without any real input from him, feeling like they’re weighed down with lead as everything blurs – reality bleeding at the edges until he can feel the hard prison cot under his back.

Ren blinks up at the cracked ceiling of the cell a couple of times to get his bearings, before he sits up – yawning and rolling his neck until there’s a satisfying little pop.

He’s still getting used to appearing in his normal clothes here, instead of that scratchy inmate uniform. It's definitely an improvement. Along with the cell door being open and there not being a single shackle in sight – it's almost cosy.

His eyes skim over Lavenza, who is looking especially serious tonight, and around the room. He notices the tall chair facing away from him in front of the desk, slightly off-centre, and to the left. He wonders briefly if he’s going to be expected to sit in it, before looking over the three new figures flanking Igor. 

All yellow eyes and white-blonde hair, the family resemblance is striking.

He’s sure that they’re waiting for him to ask who they are or why he’s here, so he does what he does best and subverts expectation.

“What’s with the chair?” he asks, as he stands up, making his way to the front of the cell. He brings his hand to his chin in mock contemplation, as he puts on a show of looking the piece of furniture up and down.

Lavenza doesn’t react – not even an eye roll. It makes Ren miss Caroline.

The twins were supposed to have been half each of Lavenza, right? Why does it always feel like she’s ninety percent Justine?

He stops in the doorway, both because crossing it still feels unnatural, and because there’s a weird current in the air that’s making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Something about that chair is starting to make him nervous, which seems kind of ridiculous when he reminds himself that he’s the kid who shot a literal god.

And then had a fistfight for the fate of humanity with his school counsellor, who kind of _turned into_ a god. 

He _should_ probably hope that next winter will be a little less... _busy_. He doesn’t, not really.

“Welcome back, Trickster.” Lavenza speaks, finally, stepping to one side and gesturing towards the spot on the floor directly in front of Igor. Not to the chair though, he notes, deciding that it must not be intended for him to sit in after all. He’s weirdly relieved. “If you could please approach the desk, my Master needs to speak with you.”

Ren shrugs and takes the handful of steps forward; he’s thinking about what possible reason he could have been summoned here for, when he casually looks to his left and feels his brain screech to a halt. 

He’s pretty sure he does an actual double take.

 _Holy shit_!

 _Goro_ goddamn _Akechi_ is sitting there, having the nerve to look like _he’s_ the one who just saw a ghost. 

“You’re alive?” Ren says, lamely. His voice sounds very far away, and he thinks back to when he'd asked the same question on that 'ideal' Christmas Eve, when Akechi had seemingly cheated death for the first time. The déjà vu is overwhelming. His knees feel weak, he really hopes that he won’t faint in front of his rival/friend/enemy/crush, who is definitely supposed to be dead.

“Apparently.” Akechi replies, having recovered enough to use that arrogant, prissy tone that Ren simultaneously hates and loves.

He is vaguely aware of the fact that Igor is talking, and that it’s probably important. 

He doesn’t care.

Akechi is actually _here_! Right in front of him! And looking completely out of place in the Velvet Room in his winter uniform. Ren can’t help but notice that his tie and right glove are both conspicuously absent, though, and Akechi might have a million spares in the real world, but Ren has a gut feeling that he knows exactly where the missing ones are.

He’s seized by the sudden impulse to reach out and touch Akechi, because Ren has never had a great sense of self-preservation at the best of times anyway, and he really needs to confirm that the other boy won’t just disappear the second he looks away.

It’s about as awkward as he expected, when he takes Akechi’s bare hand in his own, in some weird cringey hybrid of a handshake and outright hand holding – Akechi, for his part looks horrified for half a second before he obviously catches himself, and forces his expression into something closer to disgruntled. Ren squeezes his hand because he doesn’t really know what _else_ to do – Akechi rolls his eyes and looks a little like he just bit into a lemon, but he _squeezes back_ , hard, like it’s a challenge, before he lets go. 

Ren's heart soars. 

His face feels like it’s going to split in two from how hard he’s smiling.

Lavenza makes a polite little coughing sound, and Ren manages to turn some of his attention back to the other individuals in the room. 

“How is this possible?” 

“If you could please focus on what my Master is _trying_ to tell you, Trickster.” She says with poorly concealed annoyance lurking in her tone. He smiles harder, he _knew_ Caroline was still in there somewhere.

“Sorry.” he says, without really meaning it, but he does actually try to pay attention this time.

He listens to the introductions (he’d been right on the money about them all being related anyway), and the full explanation of how and why Akechi ended up in the Velvet Room. He gets a serious case of the warm and fuzzies when they confirm that Akechi is a Wild Card, just like him. Even after everything that’s happened over the last year, Ren still doesn’t really believe in fate – or at least, he doesn’t believe that it’s some immovable thing that’s set-in stone, but there’s something about his connection to Akechi that feels like it was inevitable. Like they’d always be drawn together, even without Yaldabaoth’s meddling.

Igor is obviously flagging, and the four attendants take over and do most of the talking, especially Lavenza – who goes out of her way more than once to mention, specifically, that he’s _her_ guest. 

He’s a little thrown by the uncanny way they continue and finish each other's sentences, the way it used to be when Lavenza was two little girls instead of one.

It’s kind of freaky, learning that he had never really been able to be killed in the metaverse. Apparently, he could have 'died' there more than once, only to be healed in the Velvet Room and returned to battle, no worse for wear – he thinks they’re being deliberately vague about it. 

If it _has_ happened, Ren doesn’t remember it. He can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing.

He thinks of Ryuji, hanging off of the lever for the lifeboat in Shido’s palace, just before the explosion that nearly killed him. Ren already regrets not going in his place – even though he knows that he can’t run anywhere _near_ as fast, but to find out that he could have done it safely, while Ryuji risked his life… it makes him feel like there’s a rock in the pit of his stomach.

“So, to answer your earlier question,” Elizabeth says, snapping Ren out of his reverie. “ _This_ is possible because of the sheer strength of the connection shared between the pair of you – the strength of two hearts reaching out to one another across the ocean of dreams.”

Ren blinks a couple of times.

She _has_ to know what that sounds like, right?

He’s no stranger to the fancy, flowery language used by Lavenza, and Justine before her, so he’s not sure how much he should read into what Elizabeth just said – it’s a little like trying to ignore the innuendo in the otherwise innocent statements that Yusuke makes.

He looks down at Akechi, to try and gauge his reaction; the other boy is avoiding his eyes, and there’s an attractive red flush across his cheek bones, but his expression is sour – Ren can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or furious. It’s probably both, he doesn’t think that Akechi can physically _have_ an emotion without cutting it with at least a little rage. 

Ren wants to be mean and ask what’s got him so flustered.

“What do I have to do?” he asks instead, turning his attention back to Igor.

“The same thing that you did when your other friends were trapped here, Trickster.” Lavenza starts, but it’s Margaret that finishes the answer. “You are the key; all you need to do is take him with you through the door.”

Ren thinks that may be oversimplifying things, slightly – he’d had to do a little bit more than that when he rescued his friends before, but he isn’t going to complain if that's really all it's going to take now. He doesn’t think that Akechi is going to be up for an impromptu pep talk about reclaiming his rebel nature any time soon.

“Ready?” he asks, turning to Akechi.

“As much as I would _love_ to get the hell out of here, Ren.” Akechi's earlier embarrassment is smothered by a honeyed tone that has a nice current of sarcasm running underneath it. “I think your friends here did something to me, I can’t move.”

Ren looks to Lavenza and Igor questioningly.

“A precautionary measure, considering your companion's volatile nature.” Igor says, by way of explanation – not breaking eye contact with Ren as he lifts a hand and snaps his fingers in a way that sounds far too loud to have come from someone wearing gloves. “I am sure that you understand.”

Oh, Ren _definitely_ understands.

The effect is instantaneous, and Akechi visibly relaxes in the chair, as if his spine had literally been glued to the back of it before. For all Ren knows, maybe it had been.

“Ah, that’s much better.” Akechi says, with a pretty little sigh, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. Ren pretends not to see the flash of skin when Akechi's shirt hikes up a little in the process. 

As his eyes try to find something less _distracting_ to focus on, Ren notices how, now that Akechi is standing, every attendant in the room clutches the heavy tome each has under their arm a little tighter. He knows that those books contain scores of powerful personas – it makes him realise just how weakened Igor must be, after being locked away by Yaldabaoth.

Akechi must notice their nervous behaviour too, because when he speaks again there’s no trace of his previous sarcasm, and he seems to have turned the dial all the way to Detective Prince so hard that he’s broken it in the process. Ren isn’t sure if it’s a genuine attempt to smooth things over, or if it’s just some pathological need to control the exchange, he _does_ know that he doesn’t like it – that he wants to push, until Akechi can’t hide behind that fake smile anymore.

“I must apologise for my rudeness earlier, Igor-san. I am truly grateful to you for your hospitality, and for your enlightening explanation of the situation.” Akechi even bows deferentially, the perfect picture of disarming charm (Ren can almost see the sparkles), and it might have even been believable, if he didn’t have first-hand experience with just how much of a catty little turd Akechi really is. “But if you don’t mind, I think that my friend and I will take our leave. Farewell.”

He turns on his heel, in that over the top way of his (the kind of spin that would make the fringe on the epaulettes of his prince outfit swish dramatically), and their eyes meet. Akechi’s TV smile is still firmly in place, but his eyes, which Ren knows are a warm brown, catch the light in a way that makes them look red. There’s a sharp spark of almost offended fascination there, like Ren is a particularly interesting but potentially dangerous insect, and Akechi is weighing his options regarding extermination.

It does funny things to Ren's insides, and he thinks to himself (not for the first time) that Akechi might not be the only one who’s a _little_ messed up.

Ren clears his throat, and does his best to cover whatever it is he’s feeling with bravado, bowing a little at the waist and making a grand sweeping gesture towards his cell. 

“After you.”

Akechi walks past him without any real acknowledgement, other than an annoyed cluck of his tongue.

Ren says his thanks and his goodbyes – promising Lavenza that he’ll come back tomorrow for a proper farewell, before following after Akechi. 

The cell feels very small with both of them in it.

“I don’t see a door?” Akechi says, his statement turning up and into a question at the end.

Ren looks at the big rectangle of light in the rear wall of the cell that Akechi apparently can’t see, and runs through a few scenarios in his head, the two most attractive are also by far the most dangerous. He can’t imagine Akechi would appreciate being carried, bridal style, across the threshold, nor does he think it would go down particularly well if he pushed him through the door with a well-placed kick – channelling his inner Caroline.

He opts for a third, marginally safer, option. He places his hand, gently, in the small of Akechi’s back (he’s not quite able to keep the smile off his face when Akechi jumps at the touch), and moves to guide him through the door.

“You just need to trust me.” Ren says, which earns him a truly withering glare. Akechi doesn’t resist however, and obediently keeps step with Ren when he moves forward, despite the fact that from Akechi’s perspective it must look like they’re about to walk face-first into a wall.

They pass through the door together, and it’s only as Ren feels the familiar but disorienting sensation that comes with returning to a horizontal body, that he remembers that he’d entered the Velvet Room while he was asleep.

In his bed. 

It’s not like they’re going to be casually walking out into the alley in Shibuya.

It’s the last thought that goes through his head before he jerks awake, sitting up and groping blindly for his phone – the torch on it being the only light source he has to hand. He barely registers the time (3:17 a.m.), while he fumbles with his lock screen pattern.

“ _Ren?! Wha-?!_ ” Morgana yowls in surprise at being dislodged from his chest.

Before Ren can even get his phone unlocked (he’s normally pretty dextrous, but seems to be all thumbs right now), Morgana’s night vision does the job for him.

“ _Akechi?!_ ” Morgana almost screeches.

“Hello, Morgana.” Akechi says, from somewhere on the floor beside the bed, and Ren releases the breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding. 

Akechi sounds surprisingly unruffled considering the circumstances.

Ren manages, finally, to turn his torch on, and he sets his phone to the side so that it shines upwards, emitting enough light to see by, at least. Morgana is sitting at the end of the bed, peering over the edge with his tail swishing discontentedly from side to side.

He follows Morgana's gaze to where Akechi is laying on the floor, one arm slung across his face. He’s still in his winter uniform, but it’s slightly more complete now than it had been when they were in the Velvet Room – with his tie, and both gloves, accounted for. Ren has to assume that it was what he was wearing before confronting them in Shido’s palace, back in December, before he’d ‘died’ and been taken in by Igor and his attendants.

The arm covering Akechi’s eyes doesn’t do a whole lot to actually conceal how he’s feeling, Ren can still see the grim set of his jaw and the way he’s worrying his lower lip between his teeth, hard enough that he’s kind of surprised that it’s not bleeding. Although, Ren knows from experience that it’s not going to be long before it’s all hidden again – that showing vulnerability is the same as losing in Akechi’s mind. 

“Can _someone_ explain what’s going on?!” Morgana asks, thankfully at a (marginally) more reasonable volume than before. “I thought he was _dead_!”

“Me too.” Ren says, at the same time that Akechi deadpans, “So did I.” 

That shocks a bark of laughter out of Ren, and he brings a hand to his mouth to smother it quickly, he has a feeling that he’s close to cracking up, and spiralling into hysterics doesn’t seem like the best idea right now. 

The lack of sleep isn’t helping.

Morgana looks _extremely_ unimpressed, so Ren takes a breath to calm himself, before he starts trying to explain. 

“He’s actually just been stuck in the Velvet Room all this time, and-”

“Is that my tie?” Akechi interrupts, conversationally, as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, gesturing towards the black and white crumpled pile of material on the mattress – it looks especially sad compared to the nice neat one currently around Akechi’s neck. He casually leans back against Ren's shelves and looks up at him expectantly, with an expression of (almost certainly) faux innocence.

Oh.

_Oh, no._

Ren may be freaking out internally, but he prides himself on his poker face, even without his glasses to hide behind, and his voice sounds sufficiently nonchalant when he answers. 

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s mine.”

Akechi’s eyes narrow a fraction and the pleasant mask slips a little, his smile taking on that hard edge that Ren had only really seen when they’d been working together against Maruki-sensei. 

His heart does a little dance in his chest.

“ _That’s clearly Akechi’s tie..._ ” Morgana says, under his breath, using the same tone that he usually reserves for when Ryuji says something he finds particularly stupid.

Ren ignores him.

He can see that bringing up the tie is just a distraction, he knows that Akechi is trying to control the conversation and delay the inevitable discussion. It’s a risky tactic though, with the potential to easily embarrass Akechi just as much as him – it shows just how much he does not want to talk about what happened, or _why_ any of it was able to happen in the first place.

Akechi is staring up at him, one hand on his chin and that sharp, calculating expression still firmly in place – like he’s waiting for Ren to break. It makes him feel like a butterfly pinned to a board, so he drags himself out of bed to try and dispel some of the tension. It doesn’t help when he has to step over, and resist the urge to kick, an uncooperative Akechi on the way to his desk. He clicks the lamp on, just to do _something_ , and while the meagre light isn’t a huge improvement over the phone torch, the bit of distance does help him find his voice. 

“We should go downstairs and talk about this.” Ren says, hastily tacking “alone” onto the end of the sentence when he sees Morgana move to jump down off the bed. He could nearly clap himself on the back for how steady his voice sounds, maybe all that negotiating with hostile shadows he’s done over the last year is starting to pay off.

“Is that a good idea?” Morgana stage whispers, looking askance at Akechi.

“Even if I _was_ inclined to do something, how exactly would _you_ be able to help?” Akechi asks, with a smug little chuckle, voice absolutely _dripping_ with condescension.

God, Ren missed him _so much_.

Morgana literally bristles, tail puffing up into an angry bush, as he splutters furiously – speechless.

“I’ll be fine, Morgana.” Ren soothes in his best mediator voice – the one he usually uses when Morgana and Ryuji are at each other's throats. “I promise.”

Morgana grumbles something under his breath (all Ren catches is Akechi’s name), but he acquiesces and settles back down onto the bed – tucking his legs under his body and his tail around himself. Ren smiles at his friend in a way that he hopes is reassuring.

Akechi meanwhile, has found his feet and is currently brushing his clothes off with the most ridiculously fussy frown on his face.

Ren snorts a laugh and heads for the stairs, not waiting to see if Akechi follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Caroline too, Ren!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take note of the rating change! Things are heating up, ha. 
> 
> Slow burn? I don't know her.
> 
> Thanks again for the comments, kudos, and subscriptions - they never fail to put a smile on my face!
> 
> Disclaimer: Akechi's opinion of Morgana is not mine! I love Mona, but I can't imagine that Akechi is especially fond of him.

Goro is, honestly, still trying to play catch up after coming to on the hard floor of Leblanc’s attic. Going from standing to prone, mid-step and with absolutely no warning is not an experience he’s in a hurry to repeat any time soon, but he thinks it might still be preferable to what’s going to come next.

Morgana's shrill voice is grating, cutting through the quiet darkness from somewhere to his right, and it’s only through years of practised dishonesty that Goro manages a blandly polite greeting – even while he’s thinking about how easy it would be to wring that furry little neck.

He _desperately_ wants to avoid any serious conversation right now, especially about bonds and connections and _hearts_ – it’s ridiculous, and it’s all been _far_ _too fucking much_ at once. He’s still struggling with the sheer load of everything he's learned in the Velvet Room, not to mention the simple fact that he’s actually _alive_. 

He’d fully come to terms with being dead in the time they’d spent dealing with Maruki.

The whole experience has left him shaken, and off kilter in a way that he hasn’t felt since he’d been staring down the Phantom Thieves in the engine room of his piece of shit father’s palace – when they’d, inexplicably, offered him an olive branch immediately after he tried to kill them. 

They always were too naïvely virtuous for their own fucking good.

“Can _someone_ explain what’s going on?!” Morgana whines, and Goro thinks that if you could distil the very essence of the sound of nails being dragged over a chalkboard, it would probably be indistinguishable from that _pest's_ voice. “I thought he was _dead_!”

“So did I.” He replies flatly, at the same time that Ren says something softly that Goro doesn’t quite catch.

Then Ren laughs, uncharacteristically loud, for a second before stopping himself, and Goro is hit immediately by two opposing but equally strong desires – he wants to make Ren laugh like _that_ again, but he also simultaneously wants to throttle him, and tell him to _shut the hell up._

Because _none_ of this is fucking funny.

And why does that stupid cat- _thing_ have to be here, anyway? 

It’s bad enough that he’s going to have to talk to _Ren_ about everything, but it’s made one hundred times worse when the other boy starts trying to explain things to Morgana, who is easily his least favourite Phantom Thief at the best of times, and is doing nothing to remedy that by having the nerve to think it’s owed an explanation in the first place.

So, it’s not surprising, really, that he would jump on the first opportunity to divert the conversation the second it presented itself. 

“Is that my tie?” he hears himself say, and it comes out light and airy, despite the crushing regret that immediately chases the words when his brain catches up to his mouth.

 _Shit_.

Not only does it _not_ fluster Ren in the slightest (his annoyingly handsome face stays frustratingly blank when he brushes the question off, with a nonsensical assertion that the tie actually belongs to him), it just serves to feed that little bit of sickly hope growing like a tumour in his chest. 

It doesn’t take any great amount of deductive reasoning to figure out why Ren is apparently sleeping with items of his clothing, after all. It’s the kind of maudlin, simpering bullshit that should make him want to puke.

But that would be hypocritical, wouldn’t it?

How many times had he sat alone in his apartment, letting his mind drift into pathetically juvenile fantasies about Ren? 

Before things had started spiralling out of control in November, when Shido (or maybe it had actually been Yaldabaoth, pulling the strings from behind the scenes), had decided that scapegoating the Phantom Thieves wasn’t a permanent enough solution. And Goro, blinded by how close he was to achieving his revenge, had been all too happy to smother his other fledgling hopes and dreams in their crib.

Although, he’d apparently only ever been as successful in killing off those pipe dreams as he had been in killing the one who inspired them, because they’re all coming back to him now – creeping through his veins like weeds, and making his stomach feel like it’s in as much of a knotted pile as the well-loved tie on Ren’s bed.

He’s grateful for how dim the light is, because he might be able to control his expression relatively well, but his face feels uncomfortably hot.

Goro is already struggling with the idea that Ren could actually want to be his... _friend_ after everything that has happened between them. He doesn’t have much experience in the area, granted, but he’s pretty sure that murdering the other person usually tended to put a _damper_ on most friendships. Accepting that there might be the potential for something more seems foolhardy, and _absolutely_ dangerous.

The idea that he might be worthy of it seems even more foolish, and his brain is scrambling to focus on literally _anything_ else.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Ren moves to get up, and he realises that he’s been staring, like a _moron_ – he can only hope that he looks more composed than he feels. And it’s not that Goro is necessarily _trying_ to be an obstruction, when Ren has to step over him awkwardly to get out of bed, but he does feel a little bit of mean-spirited disappointment when he doesn’t trip or stumble in the process. He wonders how much time it might have bought him if Ren had fallen. 

Potentially enough for him to sprint down the stairs and out into the night? 

And hopefully right into the path of an obliging vehicle, he’s sure that Futaba Sakura would appreciate the irony.

“We should go downstairs and talk about this.” Ren says in that infuriatingly calm voice of his. "Alone."

Goro feels trapped, and the nearest outlet for his frustration is the supremely easy task of provoking Morgana. It doesn’t really do much to settle his nerves, unfortunately, even if the stupid cat _does_ rise predictably to the bait.

There’s a minor tremor in his legs as he stands up, but it’s small enough that he’s sure it isn’t noticeable in the gloom, and he starts to clean himself off without really thinking about it. He can’t see any actual dust or cobwebs around or on his clothes, but maintaining his appearance is something that he easily falls back on as a small way to exercise control when he feels unmoored.

And Ren has the fucking _audacity_ to laugh at him, before he heads for the stairs, and Goro has to work incredibly hard not to react to _that_ outwardly – willing Ren’s dark mop of hair to catch on fire as it disappears out of sight and down the stairwell.

And, to add insult to injury, Morgana is _still_ glaring up at him, managing somehow, to fit a human expression of suspicion onto an otherwise normal cat face. 

He hopes it chokes on a fucking furball.

“Well, Morgana.” Goro says, straightening his tie as he starts to walk towards the stairs as well – he’s all out of stalling tactics. “It’s been a pleasure, as always.”

There’s no answer, other than some muttering that sounds suspiciously like Morgana just repeating what he said in a poor imitation of his voice. He can still feel those blue eyes boring into him as he descends, and the desire to glare back is a childish one that he doesn’t give in to – although it’s close.

His shoes sound far too loud on the wooden stairs, each step ringing out in the quiet like a nail hammered into a coffin, only increasing the dreadful anticipation mounting exponentially inside of him as he enters the café proper.

Ren is busying himself behind the counter, peering into the old fridge in the back while Goro moves on autopilot to the stool that he still thinks of as his. He traces a gloved finger over a familiar whorl in the wood of the bar with absent-minded affection as he sits down, the air is full of the rich smell of coffee, spices and the faint undercurrent of cigarette smoke – it almost feels like he’s stepped back in time for a moment.

“Do you want something to drink?” Ren asks, like everything is normal, and not entirely fucking surreal, “and before you ask, I’m not making coffee – it’s three in the morning.”

That surprises a small, genuine laugh out of him, and it takes some of the tension out of the air. 

“Water is fine, thank you.”

He watches Ren warily as he rounds the counter, two bottles of water in hand as he settles into the middle booth – making Goro have to twist in his seat to keep him in his line of sight. He’s sure it’s intentional when his bottle is thrown to him just as he turns. Thankfully, his quick reflexes save him, and he catches it deftly.

He sees the glimmer of amusement in Ren’s eyes, and knows that it was _definitely_ intentional.

Oh, it’s like _that,_ is it?

It will take a lot more than a little _horseplay_ to get a rise out of him though, and he puts on his best bullshit smile before responding, enjoying the almost imperceptible flash of annoyance he gets in return. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here as a customer, but I sincerely hope you don’t make a habit of tossing beverages at people-“ Goro’s thoughts snag and loop back around to the first part of what he just said.

How long exactly _had_ it been since he’d been a customer here? How long since he’d been _anything_ here? _Or anywhere_?

He pulls back his sleeve and taps the screen of the smartwatch on his wrist, it’s dead. 

Then he reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone – also dead. 

Great.

“What’s the date?” Goro's mind is racing, he’s quickly cataloguing a couple of things that really _should_ have jumped out at him, immediately, when he was still upstairs – if he hadn’t been so distracted by being a flustered _idiot_. There had been no sign of anything to keep the poorly insulated attic warm, no space heater or anything similar, and the window had even been open, slightly. It’s definitely not December or January, he knows that much, how much time has passed while he's been stuck in the Velvet Room?

“Yeah, that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.” Ren replies, with a sheepish expression that’s halfway between a wince and a smile, hand rubbing self-consciously at the back of his neck. “It’s the eighteenth – wait, I guess it’s actually the morning now... so, it’s the nineteenth of March.”

More than _three_ _months_.

Fuck. 

“I’ve completely missed the investigation into Shido, then?” Goro laughs, and it comes out a broken thing with jagged edges. “And with it – my last opportunity to have any meaningful involvement in bringing him down.”

“You saved us in his palace, Akechi.” Ren says, and he sounds so disgustingly earnest it makes Goro feel queasy. “We wouldn’t have been able to change his heart without you.”

“ _Can you even hear yourself?_ ” Goro sneers in disbelief, slamming his bottle down on the bar – Ren doesn’t even have the _courtesy_ to flinch, which just pisses him off even more. “It was _my fault_ that you had to be saved in the first place, you _absolute imbecile_! That cognitive version of me was a trap set by Shido, in case I ever tried to go after his shadow, it wouldn’t have been there at all if I hadn’t come in to find you, and _even if it had_ – you would have been able to defeat it easily if you didn’t have to fight me first!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ren’s gaze is steady, in that way that he has always had trouble facing. It’s _infuriating_. “You thought you were going to die, but you still fought to save us.”

Goro rakes his hands backwards through his hair, and only just stops himself pulling it out of sheer frustration. 

“ _What is wrong with you?!_ Why don’t you _hate_ me?!”

“Because you’re my friend and I care about you.” Ren answers, as if it’s that simple.

“I _shot_ you!”

“It didn’t stick.” Ren shrugs it off, as if Goro had just stepped on his damned toe, or something, rather than tried to _murder him in cold blood_.

It’s the straw that breaks the camel's back and Goro sees red. He’s up and off the stool without thinking – crossing the space between them in two steps and looming over Ren, who is still sitting with one arm draped casually over the back of the booth seat. Apparently unfazed – he doesn’t look especially worried, and only winces slightly when Goro grabs a fistful of his bangs, pulling them back and away from his face in a rough jerky motion.

“I put a bullet through your _thick fucking skull!_ Right. Here.” He jabs his index finger, hard, into the centre of the other boy's forehead on the last two words for emphasis. “And I _enjoyed_ it!”

Ren is still cool as a _goddamned_ cucumber, despite the fact that Goro is nearly pulling his hair out by the roots. 

“You keep telling yourself that, and maybe you’ll actually believe it.”

It’s baffling, it’s fucking _incomprehensible_ , how he can remain so calm given the circumstances, and Goro finds himself desperately searching for something on Ren’s face – _anything_ that might show that he’s not as sure of himself as he seems. But all he sees in those dark eyes is trust, and some nameless, warm thing that makes Goro feel like he’s being pulled in two different directions at once. 

It makes him want to claw his own skin off.

It’s the fucking engine room all over again, he doesn’t _deserve_ anything Ren is offering, but he still wants it – desperately, hopelessly, _pathetically_. He doubts there will be an opportunity for him to make a noble sacrifice just to avoid talking about it this time.

Ren puts a gentle hand on his wrist, and Goro _does not_ jump at the touch, because he is the one in control here – even if he does feel a little like he’s drowning. Ren doesn’t make any effort to extract the fist from his hair and just squeezes his wrist softly, reassuringly, and Goro feels some of the fight drain from him, just enough that it suddenly becomes very obvious what an intimately close position he’s put them in.

He takes in Ren’s face properly, for what feels like the first time. 

It’s a little odd to realise that he’s never actually seen him up close without something in the way (whether it was his mask, glasses or those long messy bangs), and while he has always found Ren attractive, it’s only now that it really slaps him in the face. It’s with mounting horror that he finally admits to himself that the snarled up emotion wriggling in his chest can’t only be blamed on misdirected aggression, jealousy or even just his treacherous libido. He’s truly and hopelessly infatuated with this boy, and his heart feels like a bird trapped in his ribcage, trying desperately to beat its way out.

Fuck.

And he knows that he’s given himself away when a smirk that is all Joker creeps across Ren’s face. 

“Like what you see?”

 _Fuck_.

Goro hears himself splutter something unintelligible, like a complete fool, and he lets go of the fistful of hair he’s holding as if he’s been burned. The only thought in his head is to put as much distance between them as quickly as possible. Goro tries to step away, but Ren obviously has other ideas and just comes with him, still holding his wrist – the gentle grip from earlier is starting to feel more like a vice.

“Stop running away.” Ren says, with a fond exasperation that just raises Goro's hackles.

“I’m _not_ running away,” he lies through gritted teeth, loathing how petulant he sounds.

“Yeah? Prove it.” 

Ren is entirely in his space now, shitty smug expression still firmly in place as he crowds Goro back against the bar – there are two stools on either side of them, and he realises with a sickening excitement that he’s trapped. They’re almost nose to nose now, and when their eyes meet it’s like a literal electric current runs through him, zipping up and down his spine until it settles to pleasantly roll somewhere low in his gut. He’s never gotten so hard so fast in his life and nothing has even _happened_ yet, it makes his ears hot with shame, and he’s not quite sure if he should be relieved that at least _some_ part of him knows what it wants.

He does his best not to think about how he’s gone eighteen years, and to his grave twice over without ever having his first kiss. 

Fuck it, it’s fine, he’s always been a quick study anyway.

His eyes flick down to Ren’s mouth of their own accord, lingering over the soft curve of pink lips before he realises that he’s staring _again_ – and he hurries to drag his gaze back up to meet Ren’s. There’s a smouldering heat in those grey eyes, but there’s also a question, and Goro realises that he’s waiting for permission.

Because of _course_ he is. Goro wants to shake him.

“Just fucking _do it!_ ” he snarls, and Ren, being the insufferable bastard that he is, huffs a breathy little laugh that’s equal parts alluring and aggravating, before leaning in and pressing their lips together.

The kiss starts out soft and gentle, with Ren bringing both hands up to cup the sides of Goro’s face, and even the tentative slide of Ren’s tongue against his own is somehow _poignant_. It’s too much, there’s something painful burning in his chest and making his eyes sting, and Goro just _can’t_ – he can’t accept something so tender and affectionate.

So, he doesn’t – he grabs two fistfuls of Ren’s sweatshirt and pulls him closer, until their bodies are flush against each other and Goro can feel the hard press of Ren's cock against his own. He growls into the kiss as he takes the lead, picking up the pace and turning it into a sharp, sloppy thing full of teeth that makes him feel like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. 

His right hand is in Ren's hair again, and he pulls it, hard, jerking his head to the side to expose the long line of his neck – noting with great interest how Ren gasps and his eyelids flutter in obvious pleasure. 

What a _freak_ , he thinks with something much closer to affection than derision.

The way Ren just submits to him is surprising, but incredibly thrilling and it makes his blood sing in his veins, he has his teeth in soft skin before he even thinks about it. Goro sucks and bites his way to the junction where Ren’s neck meets his shoulder and relishes the way he groans, hips twitching forward reflexively when Goro _really_ sinks his teeth in.

Ren’s hands are on his ass, pulling him even closer and grinding their hips together desperately, until they’re rutting against each other like animals. Goro has to put all that’s left of his higher brain functions into reining himself in before he can bite hard enough to break the skin – or come in his pants like the blushing virgin he’s trying very hard not to expose himself as.

He pulls back a little, both to catch his breath and to admire his handiwork. There’s a string of small bruises like a breadcrumb trail leading to a truly impressive love bite, standing out in vivid red-purple against pale skin just above the loose neck of Ren’s sweatshirt. The sight of it stokes something dark and possessive inside him.

The spike of avaricious desire is both alien and familiar, prickling through him like Loki’s claws over his skin.

Still riding the high of just how compliant Ren is being, Goro brings his free hand to his mouth – he catches the leather covering his index finger between his teeth, pulling the glove off in one smooth motion and letting it fall to the floor. Ren watches him from under heavy eyelids, his breath coming out in little huffs that increase in speed when Goro snakes his now bare hand down to the waistband of those awful sweatpants. Goro runs his fingers along the band teasingly before sliding his hand inside – hesitating for a half second when he realises that the other boy isn’t wearing anything underneath, he quirks an eyebrow at Ren who shrugs and fails spectacularly at his usual unaffected act. 

Goro can feel the sharp smile on his face widen when Ren literally jumps as he wraps his hand around his cock, shivering bodily when Goro squeezes.

It’s strange doing this to someone else, the angle feels wrong and a little awkward but his own erection twitches in appreciation of the hot weight against his palm – he gives Ren’s cock a few experimental pumps before finding a comfortable rhythm, and the effect is instantaneous. Ren nearly turns into a puddle against him, hands going to Goro’s shoulders for support as his breath stutters and catches in his throat around a soft little “ah” sound. Ren looks absolutely _wrecked_ already, his eyes are hazy and unfocused, and there’s a feverish looking flush spread across his cheekbones and down his neck. His hips move shamelessly to chase every tug of Goro’s hand.

He looks beautiful like this and Goro stores the image away greedily, like a guarded secret. He swallows the lump forming in his throat and focuses instead on the way Ren’s eyes roll in their sockets when Goro pulls his hair just as he rubs his thumb across the head of his cock, where it’s already deliciously slick with pre-come.

“Look at you.” It comes out too fond and Goro quickly switches gears to hide it, curling his lip and sneering. “So _desperate_ , it’s embarrassing.”

That earns him a deep moan and Goro laughs cruelly – jerking Ren faster until he’s shaking, eyebrows knit together and pretty mouth slack in pleasure. It’s not long before the muscles in his legs and stomach are tensing up, trembling so nicely that it’s obvious that his orgasm is approaching. Goro leans in, biting the shell of Ren's ear before whispering, “You’re _disgusting_.”

Ren comes with a broken cry, hips bucking erratically and chest heaving as he spills over Goro's fist. 

“Look at the mess you made.” Goro tuts and releases Ren’s hair, reaching down to pull the waistband of Ren’s sweatpants out, so he can try to extract his other hand without smearing come everywhere. He is still in control of the situation, he certainly does _not_ become flustered by the brief glimpse of dark pubic hair and the still half-hard cock standing out against it.

He’s about to start looking for a napkin or something to wipe up the mess, when Ren catches his wrist again, his gaze is clear now and bright with mischief and Goro watches with wide eyes as his hand is brought to that devious mouth. Ren doesn’t break eye contact as he runs his tongue up and between Goro’s fingers, getting every last drop of come before sucking his index finger into his mouth slowly.

The power shift is like something physical in the air and just like that, Goro feels his indifferent façade evaporate completely – far too distracted by the promise that clever tongue is making around his finger.

Ren releases his digit with a wet pop, that smug little smirk is playing at the corners of his mouth again. 

“I’m going to make you feel so good, _Goro_.”

The sound of his given name coming out of Ren’s mouth for the first time probably shouldn’t affect him as much as it does, but it sends a pleasant thrum of pleasure through him regardless – it’s almost enough to disguise the painful throb in his chest. 

It feels too _intimate_ , which given the position they’re in, just seems idiotic right now.

Any treacherous thoughts are quickly replaced with sheer anticipation however, because Ren's mouth is on his again and the hot, wet slide of his tongue is salty with the taste of his own come – Goro is finding he enjoys _that_ far more than he ever thought he would. 

There are deft fingers tugging at the buckle of his belt and undoing his fly, he thinks that he might combust. 

Ren breaks the kiss and Goro watches with rapt fascination as he drops to his knees, swallowing a groan when Ren mouths over the bulge of his erection through his underwear. Ren chuckles against him and the vibration of it has him biting his lip, hard, so that he doesn’t cry out.

“Do you _really_ think you can be quiet?” Ren purrs, smooth as the devil as he pulls down the front of Goro’s underwear with one hand and grasps his cock with the other as it bobs free – slow pumping it in a way that makes Goro's brain fizz. 

He desperately wants to say something, _anything_ to try and regain the upper hand but his thoughts have gone all slow and sticky, and the most he can manage is a shaky exhale as his hands flex uselessly at his sides.

Any attempt to conserve his dignity flies out the window when Ren takes him into his mouth, almost all the way to the hilt, and a mortifyingly lewd sounding moan escapes from him before he can get a knuckle between his teeth to try and stifle it. He feels himself flush with embarrassment and arousal when Ren laughs _around_ him, Goro’s toes curl in his shoes at the sensation, and he has to grip the bar behind him with his other hand just to stay vertical.

“ _Shut up_ ,” he hisses, although most of the threat in his tone is spoiled by how breathy it comes out.

Ren pulls up and off him with a _torturously_ slow suck, peppering the underside of his erection with wet kisses before looking up at him through thick lashes. 

“I didn’t say anything?”

Goro opens his mouth, probably to threaten to murder him _again_ , but all that comes out is a choked gasp when Ren runs his tongue in a lazy circle around the head of his cock and then down in a firm strip to the base.

He honestly thinks that his brain might be melting, as he watches Ren slowly kiss and lick his way up and down the length of his cock before he’s slowly pulled back into that silky, wet heat once more. Ren settles into a steady pace, head bobbing up and down and tongue doing _amazing_ things to the underside of his cock on each drag upwards. 

Goro can feel the pleasure coiling like a spring in his stomach, every single one of his nerves are on fire, and it takes all that he has not to thrust in time with Ren's movements. Not out of any real consideration for Ren’s well-being, the sadistic part of him _loves_ the idea of making him cough and splutter, but more because Goro just can’t relinquish any more control than he already has – especially now that he’s hurtling towards the edge, and he feels like he might just shake apart with it.

It must be clear how close he is because Ren increases that delicious suction and brings a hand up to cup his balls roughly – Goro sees white, eyes rolling back into his head as he’s hit by the most intense orgasm of his life. He just manages to get his fist back up to his mouth to sink his teeth in, and somewhat cover the shameful mix of gasps and grunts he’s making as he shoots down Ren's throat. He bites down hard enough on his knuckle to taste blood.

He feels boneless and oversensitive as he comes back down, shivering at the almost painful overstimulation when Ren gives him one last lick before tucking him back into his underwear. He zips up Goro’s fly and looks up at him with something approaching reverence.

Goro has to look away.

With the haze of aggressive arousal gone there’s nothing to distract him from the fragile thing determined to dash itself against the walls of his chest. His vision still feels blurry around the edges, and he blinks deliberately to try and clear it, an icy finger of dread ghosts up his spine when the first tear falls. 

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_.

The well of his anger is suddenly dry, for the first time in... he’s not exactly sure how long, and he’s lost without it to hide everything else behind.

Ren stands and catches his chin, forcing him to make eye contact – he looks so _concerned_. 

Goro feels less than worthy.

“You’re crying...” he says, voice far too soft and caring as he swipes a thumb over Goro’s cheek, smearing the wet trail there.

“I suppose that I am.” He tries to twist his features into his usual smiling mask and force out a laugh, but the expression feels brittle and the sound that comes out of him is all wet and shaky, so he gives up and lets his face settle into the scowl it wants to be instead. 

He blinks and more fat tears roll down his cheeks, he’s terrified suddenly that now it’s started that he won’t be able to stop.

“ _Shit.”_ He whispers sharply, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes, which, of course, only serves to dislodge even more water from his treacherous tear ducts. 

Fucking _fantastic_. 

He’s starting to think that the universe is determined to strip him of every last shred of his dignity.

Ren pulls him into a fierce hug and Goro fights him a little at first, more out of reflex than anything else – pushing at him ineffectually. He knows he doesn’t have the right to seek comfort from Ren, after everything, and he still rails viscerally against the idea that he might be _pitied,_ but he’s just so _tired_. 

Goro realises that he can’t even _begin_ to remember the last time someone hugged him, or even touched him for anything more than a handshake, which just manages to make him feel even more wretched.

And hasn’t he already spent most of his life making poor choices and selfish decisions? Is there really any reason or point in stopping now?

So he surrenders – clutching at Ren like a drowning man, fists bunching in the material of his shirt as he shudders with the force of a sob. He hasn’t cried this openly since his mother died and _of course_ it’s Ren that yanks it out of him like a rotten tooth, he’s always been infuriatingly efficient at finding any gap in Goro’s armour, pulling and tearing it away like a shadow's mask and leaving him feeling exposed and raw around the edges.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dudes! Thank you so much for your kudos and reviews!
> 
> I've been feeling a bit down and they really do make all the difference when it comes to motivation. Anyways, we're back to Ren again and this chapter was a bit tough for me. It just did not want to actually be written, so hopefully it's okay.

Ren can’t say he’s necessarily _surprised_ that Akechi broke down after everything that’s happened, because he’s probably the single most emotionally constipated person Ren knows and it was _always_ going to boil and bubble over eventually. He’d just kind of assumed that any outbursts would be more _violent_ … rather than of the ‘dissolving into floods of tears' variety. 

He’s not complaining, as such; Akechi crying is definitely a _lot_ easier to deal with than him losing his shit, and it’s a million times better than him hiding behind all that fake cheer and polite indifference.

Ren’s just kind of worried that he’s broken him or something.

As if on cue, Akechi lets out a particularly ragged and forceful series of sobs, each one sounding like it’s literally being punched out of him. Ren takes a deep breath and pulls the other boy a little closer, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Akechi’s neck in a way that he hopes is soothing.

Coming down the stairs earlier, he’d been feeling more than a little lost, but Ren has always been very good at thinking on his feet, faking it until he makes it and just generally flying by the seat of his pants – that’s why, even though he was running on negative sleep, he’d still had a _plan_. It had been hastily put together and only minutes old when it fell apart, but he _had_ had one.

But hey, it hadn’t included any angry making out, getting jerked off, or giving head for the first time – so maybe it hadn’t been such a good plan after all.

No.

He gives himself a mental slap on the wrist.

_Focus_.

His plan, the one where they spoke instead of trying to eat each other’s faces, was supposed to be an opportunity to talk things out. Not just about everything from the Velvet Room but also about all of the other stuff that they’d never had the chance to actually discuss properly. 

Like, how many people had Akechi actually killed or driven mad? 

Was there anything that Ren could have said or done in November that would have convinced Akechi to join them for real? 

What had it felt like to murder him?

Did he regret any of it?

And did it make Ren a bad person for caring more about Akechi being here and safe than any of those things?

It had been going kind of well, they’d managed to talk a little about the engine room and even the whole 'trying to kill him' thing, but then Akechi had started getting mad and Ren couldn’t help himself. He'd felt like a cat eyeing something expensive near the edge of the counter top, he had to poke and prod until every piece of Akechi’s well-structured veneer was thoroughly smashed on the figurative floor. 

He hadn’t expected Akechi to get into his personal space though, eyes ablaze with a not so righteous fury, and he _really_ hadn’t expected him to grab a fistful of his hair, like he was working from a script plucked straight out of one of Ren’s dirty dreams.

Then Akechi had gotten this _look_ on his face, all flushed cheeks and wide panicked eyes – and it had become very clear, very quickly that Ren hadn’t been imagining the furtive glances at him across the table in Jazz Jin, or overthinking the vicious chemistry when they fought side by side in the metaverse.

The rational part of Ren’s brain had taken the opportunity to go on vacation, like he’d gotten slapped with a Marin Karin and brainwashed, to the point that it seemed like a great idea to let all of the talking and the questions wait until after he’d kissed the sour look off that pretty face.

He’d still had to tap into a bit of his Joker persona (haha) to keep his nerve, even though it wasn’t like it was his first kiss or even his first handjob. He’d had a girlfriend back home, Hitomi – she was smart and sweet, and he thought they were good together until she’d ghosted him the second he got arrested. 

And yeah, he’s still bitter about that, because the _least_ she could have done was actually break up with him, instead of just acting like he’d never existed.

_She’d_ never kissed him the way Akechi did anyway, he was very... _bitey_ , like they were fighting instead of making out and it was _insanely_ hot. Ren is having to admit to himself that he has a whole host of embarrassingly masochistic tendencies that he never thought he’d have the opportunity to explore in real life. Like how much he’d get off to having sweetly degrading things whispered in his ear, or how he couldn’t decide if he preferred the way Akechi surrendered to him the second he dropped to his knees or if he’d wanted him to just fuck his mouth until he could barely breathe.

Akechi shifts in his arms, pressing a wet cheek to the side of his neck and it’s the metaphorical equivalent of having a cold bucket of water dumped over his head. Ren feels immediately and immensely bad for letting his mind trip and face-plant into the gutter _again_ while Akechi is literally crying into his shoulder, he’s going to blame the fact that he’s half asleep and the way that Akechi smells stupidly good for someone who has been stuck outside reality for months.

And actually, hang on – how exactly did _that_ work?

He looks over at the still unopened bottle of water on the bar that he’d given Akechi earlier, he’s obviously not dying of thirst or hunger, and his uniform is still clean, crisp and immaculately pressed – it’s as if no physical time at all has passed for Akechi since December. 

Ren supposes that Igor was being literal when he said that the Velvet Room exists 'between' mind and matter.

He’s had some experience with it himself, of course. Ren has often spent hours in the Velvet Room trying to perfect a specific persona fusion, only to leave and be ragged on by his friends for 'spacing out' for a few minutes. Time in the real world and time in the Velvet Room seem to be entirely separate, but there’s obviously a huge difference between a few hours and _months_ of missing time. It makes his head hurt, even if Ren was more awake, he feels like trying to understand it all is above his non-existent pay grade.

Ren honestly feels a little like he’s been turned into a yo-yo, everything has been so up and down since he got into bed a few hours ago, and that’s without thinking about the looming spectre of Tomorrow and how exactly all of _this_ is going to work in the light of day. The only thing keeping him sane is that he has Akechi – _Goro_ , he corrects himself – here with him, a solid and reassuring weight in his arms. 

Ren isn’t sure how long they stand there against the bar, not exactly anyway, as he strokes Goro's hair with one hand and holds him tightly against him with the other. His own eyes are wet and bleary, and he catches himself falling asleep on his feet more than once, he feels physically and emotionally wrung out, and he can only imagine what it must be like for the other boy.

When the worst of the storm seems to have passed and Goro is silent other than for the occasional soft sniffle, Ren decides to take a chance and coax him upstairs – genuinely surprised, and maybe even a little worried when Goro comes without a fight, only stopping to pick his discarded glove up off the floor. 

There’s no sign of Morgana when they get up there and Ren has to assume that he slipped out through the open window, he pushes aside any thoughts about why his friend felt the need to leave in the small hours of the morning – he doesn’t have the headspace for it now, and he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer anyway. 

It’s not like they’d been especially quiet, after all. 

He’s going to have to buy a _lot_ of sushi as an apology.

He walks with Goro to the bed and, with a gentle hand on his shoulder, guides him into sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Ren is thrown again, by the pliant way the other boy just goes with it, he’s used to having to push with Goro – even back when he was still pretending to be the sweet little media darling, every innocuous action Ren made had still been taken as a challenge.

What if he really _has_ broken him? What if he sucked the rage right out of him like some kind of... _succubus_? The _very dumb_ thought catches him off guard, and he only just manages to hide a laugh behind a cough, he doubts it would go down especially well at the moment. 

He badly needs to get some sleep before he says or does something _really_ stupid and ends up murdered for real.

“I’m just going to get us some clothes to sleep in, okay?” Ren says carefully, proud of how it comes out without a hint of the tired hysteria he’s feeling, and Goro blinks up at him with red puffy eyes, looking slightly disoriented before he nods and starts removing his shoes.

Ren leaves him to it, and heads over to root around in the cardboard box that functions as his wardrobe, fishing out a t-shirt and two pairs of sweatpants – entirely exhausting his supply of clean sleepwear in the process. He hadn’t been planning on having to do any more laundry before leaving Tokyo- he catches himself and cuts his own thought off at the root, he’s _not_ thinking about going home right now. 

Tomorrow.

He changes his pants quickly and kicks the dirty pair to the side, they land in a crumpled pile beside his model of the Skytree.

Another thing for Tomorrow Ren to worry about.

He walks back across the room and hands Goro the change of clothes, feeling a little of his concern ease when the other boy pulls a face, mouth turning down at the corners in distaste, as if Ren had just given him a trash bag to wear.

They’d probably have to be argyle, and look like something a middle-aged philosophy professor would wear to get the Goro seal of approval anyway.

“Sorry, I’m sure they’re not up to your usual standards.” He teases, and Goro shoots him a look with some of his usual fire, the tight ball of worry in Ren’s chest relaxes a little more.

“I’ll manage.”

It’s slightly awkward as Goro stands and starts getting undressed, meticulously folding and setting aside each piece of clothing as it’s removed – in a neat little pile between the miniature swan boat and the model ramen bowl on Ren’s shelf. Of course, they’ve gotten changed in front of each other before at the bathhouse and it feels weird to be shy when he literally just had Goro’s dick in his mouth downstairs, but there’s a fragility about him since he started crying. It’s a bit like fine cracks in glass that will only spread if you put pressure on them, and Ren isn’t sure where to look. So, he busies himself with getting into bed (not bothering to turn off the lamp before he does), and plugging his phone back in to charge instead. 

The screen lights up, and he notes the time (4:25 a.m.) with dismay, there’s only about two hours left before Sojiro arrives and starts puttering around downstairs, getting the café ready for the handful of regulars who like to grab a cup of coffee before work. 

He wants to stay in this bubble with Goro a little longer.

As if summoned by the thought, a chat notification pops up (silently) on his phone, and he taps it warily. He’s very grateful that Morgana bullied him into setting his phone to ‘do not disturb' last night, so that none of his friends could... well, _disturb_ him, and he could get a proper night’s sleep for once – which is actually kind of hilarious in hindsight. It means that he doesn’t have to worry about explaining to Goro why his phone is going off at half four in the morning, especially when he knows that there’s only going to be one person messaging him at this hour – and sure enough, Futaba’s icon stares up at him knowingly from the screen.

He has a minor existential crisis when he remembers that she has the café bugged.

**-Futaba Sakura-**

**19/03/2017**

**4:27 a.m.**

> **Futaba:** Mona is here with me if ur looking for him...
> 
> **Futaba:** tell Akechi congrats on the respawn I guess
> 
> ┐(￣ヘ￣;)┌
> 
> **Futaba:** ...

A few seconds tick by while she obviously writes, erases and rewrites whatever it is she wants to say next. Ren tries to ignore the apprehension twisting his stomach into a pretzel, he’s glad that Goro seems to be too absorbed in getting dressed to pay attention to what he’s doing.

> **Futaba:** if playing visual novels has taught me anything its that going the yandere route usually gets you the Bad End 
> 
> 〣( ºΔº )〣
> 
> **Futaba:** just be careful ok? 

A wave of fondness overrides the little bit of panicky embarrassment he’s feeling, he’s not sure if Morgana blabbed or if she actually overheard something, but it means so much to him that she seems to be okay enough with it to make a joke at his expense. He sends a single thumbs up emoji back, mostly because he doesn’t know what _else_ to say – “ _thanks for being cool with me blowing the guy who killed your mom?_ ” – and sets his phone aside.

“I have a spare charger if you need it.” Ren offers, trying to distract himself by pulling the second cable from where it’s fallen down the side of the bed, like he’s done a million times when Ryuji or Yusuke stay over, and he’s hit all over again with how incredibly _weird_ this all is.

Which, considering the year he’s had, is saying a lot.

“Ah, thank you.” Goro says, sounding sincerely grateful as he hands his phone over. He’s dressed in Ren's clothes now, one hand worrying at a hole along the bottom seam of the old t-shirt and Ren's heart does a funny little jump at how cute he looks. 

It’s a sharp contrast with the smug snake who jerked him off to within an inch of his life downstairs.

He should be used to it by now – how Goro can be so many seemingly contradictory things at the same time, but it still catches him off guard all the same. It could be the sleep deprivation, the post orgasm brain fuzz or the emotional toll of the night as a whole, but he has a feeling that he’s falling, hard, for a pretty-boy hitman with _serious_ Daddy Issues. 

His parents would pitch a fit. 

He realises, without any real surprise, that the idea of disappointing his parents bothers him a lot less now than it would have a year ago.

“Should I sleep on the sofa? Or...?” Goro starts, he sounds unsure of himself, and he’s literally wringing the end of the t-shirt in his hands now, his knuckles are white with the effort.

Ren is almost tempted to mess with him and start pulling out the spare futon that he eventually invested in for the more platonic kind of sleepovers, but he feels like the joke might fall a bit flat right now, so he just scoots over close to the wall and pats the space on the mattress beside him.

He isn’t sure how someone can look both relieved and offended at the same time but Goro manages it, as he puts one knee on the edge of the bed, gingerly shifting his weight into it like he’s testing its structural integrity. 

“I can’t believe you actually sleep on a mattress that’s what...? On top of old _milk crates_? Will it even hold the two of us?”

“It’s fine.” Ren laughs under his breath, not bothering to mention that this bed has supported the weight of pretty much the entire band of Phantom Thieves at some point – all squashed up together watching movies on his tiny CRT. He reaches out and pulls Goro down into his arms instead, so they’re nose to nose, and he tangles their legs together without thinking, as if he’s subconsciously afraid that Goro is going to hop up and run away (or disappear into thin air again) if he doesn’t. 

It doesn’t feel like an especially irrational fear, with everything that’s happened.

Ren takes both of Goro’s hands in his own, kissing the tips of his fingers softly, mostly out of genuine affection, but also because doing it makes Goro’s face scrunch up hilariously. 

“You’re _disgustingly_ sentimental, you know that?” Goro says, and it shouldn’t be possible for him to look down his nose at Ren – not with the position they’re in, but he certainly seems to be trying his best regardless. 

“Mmm.” Ren hums, placing an especially gentle kiss on the bite mark on Goro’s finger, because _wow_ he really went to town on it earlier. “You may have mentioned that once or twice before.”

Ren reaches out to brush some of the hair out of Goro’s face, tucking a few of the loose strands behind his ear gently. Goro is watching him intensely, obviously perplexed by the simple affection – it makes Ren’s heart clench painfully.

“I don’t understand you.” Goro whispers into the half inch of space between them. “I spent _years_ building up this false version of myself, not just because it made what I had to do easier, but I suppose... that I wanted to be... _likeable_ , or at least _useful_ , how can you have seen who I am under all of it and still-“ he pauses to take a shaky breath. “And still look at me like _that_? As if I actually deserve it?”

If Ren thought his heart hurt before, he was wrong. 

It’s all too easy to remember the broken boy screaming at him and the other Thieves in Shido’s palace, with literally everything laid bare – all the hate, the deception, the loneliness, and the sheer inability to understand that they would still want him to come with them after all of it. Like a wild animal caught in a trap that would rather gnaw its own leg off than accept help, or compassion, because it had never actually been shown any before.

He thinks of the evening he’d given Maruki-sensei the calling card. Standing alone with Goro after the ‘dead all along’ bomb was dropped, feeling like his heart was breaking and desperately trying to think of _anything_ to say that would make things right – telling Goro his life wasn’t something trivial and the poison hiss of ‘ _it is_ ’ that he’d gotten in return.

“Because you _do_ deserve it.” Ren tries, and Goro’s mouth hitches into a half-hearted sneer for a second, before his expression relaxes back into something more pensive than angry. Ren feels like he’s in a minefield trying to avoid mentioning anything that might scare or set the other boy off. 

“You’re not as good an actor as you think, Goro.” It’s the wrong thing to say, if the thunderous expression Goro is currently sporting is anything to go by, Ren pushes on anyway. “At least, not up close anyway. You showed me a lot more of yourself than you meant to – and I don’t just mean in the bathhouse.”

He says the last part with a suggestive eyebrow waggle – Goro rolls his eyes and digs a painfully sharp heel into the side of Ren’s shin, but his mouth is twisted in what looks like an attempt to hide a smile.

“Ow! Okay, I’ll stop!” Ren laughs and takes the brief moment of levity as an opportunity to plant a small kiss on the tip of Goro's nose. “Seriously, though. You’re allowed to be happy.”

Goro looks sullen again, because apparently the idea that he should be anything other than miserable is the worst thing that Ren could have said. He’s floundering a little, and it doesn’t help that he’s never really been all that great at carrying a conversation, usually preferring to be a sort of sounding board for his friends and their problems. 

Thankfully, Goro has never been one to stay quiet for long.

“Do you think that Futaba Sakura or Haru Okumura would agree with you? What would they say if they could see you now? _Cosying-_ “ and Goro says it like it’s a dirty word, mouth twisting into a snarl around it “-up to the person who killed their parents? And let's not forget the other Phantom Thieves, you don’t think that they might have an issue with your suicidal _obsession_ with your own murderer?”

Ouch.

Okay, that’s just _unfair_.

“Any obsession here is definitely at _least_ a two-way street.” Ren says, aiming for something in the region of light teasing but ending up sounding more defensive than anything else. “You essentially _stalked_ me for months!”

“I was _investigating_ you.”

“The train that goes to your school doesn’t even leave from the same platform as mine, Goro – I checked! And you just turned up here one day even though Yongen-Jaya is completely out of your way and I’m not sure I’d even told you the name of the café I was staying in.”

“Sae-san recommended- and actually, _no_ , I won’t even dignify that with a response.” Goro is suddenly all business, mouth a grim and unyielding line, and Ren knows he’s hit a nerve. “Stop deflecting and answer the question, Ren.”

He’s using what Ren has to assume is his _actual_ detective voice, not the way he speaks as a smiling TV personality, but rather the tone he reserves for when he’s doing real work with the police and has to hold his own among condescending adults. 

It’s kind of hot.

Then again, Ren’s frazzled brain offers, maybe it’s also how he speaks to people’s shadow selves when he’s pumping them for information, before turning them berserk or destroying them.

Probably by putting a bullet between their eyes, just like he’d done to the cognitive version of him in the interrogation room. 

Okay, less hot.

“They probably wouldn’t be thrilled about it, no.” Ren admits with a humourless little laugh, he doesn’t mention that Futaba _already_ knows, because that just feels like an extra complication that they don’t need right now. “But they’re my friends, and they'd understand.”

“They’d _understand_?”

“They know, okay?” Ren says, trying not to sound as exasperated as he feels, because he’s not any good at explaining at the best of times and his brain feels like it’s running at half capacity right now. “After we beat Maruki-sensei, I woke up in juvenile detention and you were just _gone,_ and Morgana had to tell them why. They know that you were able to be there with us because I... uh... wished for it. They know that you were- _are_ important to me, although, I don’t know if they figured out in what _way_... but, yeah... they get it.”

He’s making it sound easier than it really was. When his welcome back party had started winding down and Goro’s name had come up (in an awkwardly endearing toast from Ryuji, of all people) and Ren had nearly started crying.

Because, yeah, he’d been through a lot, and Akechi was gone, and saying it all really sucked would have been the understatement of the century – but he’d been more worried that the whole ‘wishing their enemy back from the dead' thing was going to be what smashed the easy camaraderie he shared with the other Thieves. And that wasn’t even getting into how much he’d felt like a hypocrite, spending borrowed time with the person he’d lost, after forcing the others to abandon their ‘ideal’ realities weeks before the fight with Maruki-sensei. 

He’d tried his best to explain it to them and apologise, and then he really _had_ started crying. The silence had hung heavily over them for a few seconds when he’d finished talking, until Haru had reached out and taken his hand in her own, sympathy and compassion clear in her kind eyes, and (of course) when he'd looked up he saw the same thing in all of them. 

They’d all pulled him into a big messy group hug, and he’d felt terrible all over again for thinking that they would actually hold it against him. 

They really were the best friends he could ever ask for.

Ren had a (relatively) normal, if somewhat cold, upbringing, and he’s _still_ struggling with the concept of unconditional acceptance. So, given what he knows about Goro’s life, he really shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that he’s looking at him like he’s speaking a different language – eyebrows knit together in an obvious lack of comprehension.

“What-” Goro starts, but then stops and sighs in what sounds like defeat. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Ren is about to hum an affirmative, but a yawn creeps up on him, and he has to turn to the side and into the pillow at the last second so that he doesn't do it right into Goro's face. 

Goro, for his part, makes a soft amused noise through his nose and quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“I think you need to go to sleep.”

“I’m kind of worried that you’ll be gone when I wake up, if I do.” And, whoops, he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Just one more thing to add to the list of Things he’s Blaming on Lack of Sleep.

“Don’t be stupid.” Goro tuts, thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

It should feel like a meaningless assurance – the boy in his bed is a liar before he’s anything else, after all, but it still calms his nerves enough that Ren allows his heavy eyes to drift closed. 

“Goro?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Goro’s hand flexes in his own, and he makes a small sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a sniffle. 

“Go to sleep, Ren.”

And, despite the fact that he’s kind of amped up from being overtired, there’s a foot jammed awkwardly behind his knee and there _really_ isn’t enough room in the bed (or on his single small pillow) to fit two taller-than-average teenage boys comfortably, he feels oddly at peace. His nose is full of the warm, sandalwood smell of Goro’s cologne, and there’s a thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles into the back of his hand. 

Sleep comes quickly and easily for him for what feels like the first time in forever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, kudos and subscriptions, guys! 
> 
> This chapter took a while for a lot of reasons, hopefully it came out alright. Updates will definitely be slower in coming now, I just don't have the same amount of free time I did when I first started this fic.
> 
> There's mentions of other PT pairings in this chapter, I don't feel like they feature enough to justify going in the tags yet.
> 
> C.W for self-harm in this chapter. Stay safe!
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no clue what I'm talking about when it comes to all the hacking stuff that goes on in this chapter, I just kind of made it up as I went along, ha.

Futaba Sakura sits up straight in her desk chair, uncurling her spine and stretching her arms and legs as far as she can to flex the stiffness out of her muscles – enjoying the prickly tingle of pins and needles she gets in return. She’s just set a tonne of code to compile and there isn’t much she can do now, other than wait while it does its thing. 

It’s almost 3:00 a.m. and she wants to go see Ren in the morning, before he heads off to say goodbye to all the NPCs he’s befriended around Tokyo – which means she either needs to try and get some shut-eye now, or just stay awake until Sojiro starts serving breakfast at Leblanc. 

She flips a mental coin and it lands on sleep, which is probably for the best, because she doesn’t want to waste Ren’s last proper day in Tokyo acting like one of the zombies from the Running Dead. 

She takes off her glasses and headphones, and grabs her phone to turn on her alarm, wincing a little as she sets it to go off at half seven – _gross_ , she can’t even remember the last time she had to get up so early. She spins her chair away from the desk and starts to stand up, only to flop back down again immediately when she sees that her bed is a total mess; buried under manga volumes, computer parts and a stack of clean laundry that Sojiro had asked her to put away when he came home to check on her and give her some dinner, hours ago. Her sneak skill is _way_ too low to even try and do something about it now, not without risking waking Sojiro up anyway, so the bed is definitely not an option. She pulls the cushion out from behind her back instead, and plops it down on the desk, fluffing it up a little so the mascot face that decorates it doesn’t look so sad and squished, before she lies down.

Sleep is _already_ starting to seem like the wrong choice though, because her brain feels twitchy and way too _on_. It probably has something to do with the three cans of Mad Bull she’d downed earlier to replenish her MP, while she was really in the zone, and she’s beginning to feel like she drank 100% fresh R.E.G.R.E.T juice instead.

Crud.

As she tries to get comfortable, her eyes land on one of her smaller monitors, where she still has the program she uses to mirror her friend’s phones open. It looks a little blurry without her glasses on, but she knows that it only shows their lockscreens right now (because they’ve all been asleep for hours, like a bunch of _nerds_ ) and that each one features some variation of a Phantom Thieves group photo. 

The one exception is the blacked out rectangle at the bottom right of the window that used to display Akechi’s screen. She'd kept it there as a kind of memorial after everything went down in Shido’s palace.

She knows that he never got a proper one in reality.

He might have been a murdering asshole, but after they’d unlocked his Tragic Backstory, he’d sacrificed himself for them, and then come back from the dead to help them with Maruki... he’d kind of become _their_ murdering asshole? 

Then he died again, or went _back_ to being dead... or _something_. 

GG Akechi.

The only thing she’s really sure of, when it comes to him, is that he doesn’t deserve to be forgotten.

They’ve never really talked about it, but she knows that Ren understands where she’s coming from, better than anybody – because if empathy was a stat, then Ren’s would be maxed out and then some. It’s going to be so weird, when he goes home, and she actually has to learn to interact with other people without the passive bonuses granted by her trusty Key Item.

Futaba blinks blearily at the fuzzy collage of smiling faces on her monitor, and blows some of the hair out of her face, she feels like her sleep progress-bar is stuck and frozen somewhere around 90% by her bad energy-drink-related decisions. 

When she was small, her mom used to tell her that she’d jinx herself if she thought about being tired when she couldn’t sleep, and that she should always try and think of something else. Maybe if she runs her own little flashback episode in her head, it will dispel the caffeine buff buzzing through her veins and let her actually catch some Zs?

She closes her eyes and lets her mind drift back over the almost year since Ren first came to stay in Leblanc, when she was still relying on the handful of bugs dotted throughout the café to watch over Sojiro. She’d been worried sick about him taking in some random juvenile delinquent and, of course, she had to do some digging. Getting access to Ren’s police record was like playing on ultra easy mode, but it was a lot harder to connect the violent assault described there with the quiet boy she overheard learning the ropes from Sojiro, and having _way_ too many detailed and one-sided conversations with his cat.

He hadn’t seemed dangerous at all, just like a total dweeb who was lonely, and kind of weird.

She'd been able to relate, for obvious reasons, especially to the whole ‘talking to someone who couldn’t actually answer you back’ thing – it was around that time when she had just really begun seeing and hearing her dead mom, after all.

Then later on, when things had gotten even worse and her cognition was completely messed up, she’d used the same bugs to listen in on what she quickly learned were Phantom Thief meetings, and a potential way out. It was pure desperation that pushed her to use Leblanc’s Wi-Fi as a bridge to get into their phones, needing to verify that they really _were_ the PT and not just kids that were really into LARPing or something.

Making contact with them still ranks as one of the hardest things she’s ever done, but it _worked_ ; they infiltrated her palace, she levelled up and joined them for the epic Boss Battle – becoming a real, bonafide Phantom Thief with an awesome costume and everything!

And if her friends have ever had a problem with the fact that she’s continued spying on them, long after her distortion was resolved – they’ve never said anything. 

It only seems fair anyway, when they’ve all literally been inside her head.

That's always been her reasoning at least, and it’s more than enough to toggle the 'guilt’ setting in her head to 'off', even if it doesn’t quite explain away the fact that she hacked into Haru's phone the second the opportunity presented itself. Haru, who is sweet, trusting to a fault, and the literal definition of a cinnamon roll – who had, most importantly, never set foot in Futaba’s palace. 

Although, with the sheer amount of phishing emails and adware that Futaba is constantly having to nuke from orbit on her behalf, maybe she can say she’s doing Haru a service by keeping tabs on her.

She looks out for all of them as best she can really, just like she does in the metaverse – trawling for little bits of information to make their lives easier. 

It’s how she found out that Ryuji and Makoto have the same taste in manga and movies, the kind that are all about sweaty, ripped dudes grunting at each other while stuff explodes in the background. She’d started sending them promotional materials from the same theatres, so they could ‘accidentally’ bump into each other, and go geek-out together – although, maybe it worked a little too well, because she’s seen the log from the boy’s group chat and knows that Ryuji is crushing, _hard,_ now. 

Whoops.

She knows that Ann has a super busy schedule and negative organisational skills, so Futaba edits her calendar to set reminders; so she doesn’t forget to go to her shoots, or miss the days when her favourite crêpe shop is running special offers or serving limited edition flavours. Ann almost always buys extra to share with Futaba, and it’s a lot of fun playing taste-tester together, even if the weird savoury crêpe she got last time was super gross – Ann had enjoyed the tuna-filled ick enough for the both of them anyways. 

But it’s her latest project that she’s especially proud of: rigging restaurant and grocery store coupon draws, and sending the spoils on to Inari – who _still_ hasn’t started questioning how he’s winning competitions that he never entered in the first place. 

Then there's Sumire...

Her phone is a special case, it’s so broken, and so malware infested, that Futaba hasn’t had the courage to remote in and expose her system to whatever demons have possessed it. She _should_ really set up an isolated environment and convince Sumire to let her fix it, or at least back it up, so she can get a new phone... but that would involve actually talking to the other girl, and then probably having to spend time _alone_ together in her room while she does the repairs. And she wouldn't even have someone to help sponge any awkward silences between them, because Mona is going to be leaving with Ren on Monday.

And maybe it’s just because Sumire is the newest member of the group or something, but Futaba feels kind of like her heart is trying to jackhammer its way out of her chest whenever she tries to talk to her without the other Thieves around. 

She turns her face into the pillow and groans, her cheeks are suddenly very hot (like a bajillion degrees hot), and she doesn’t understand _why_.

At the very least, she should be able to skip the first part of the Companion Quest by getting Ren to bring fixing the phone up with Sumire for her – he should be more than happy to do her a solid once she tells him that she’s upgraded his train ticket to first class, and filled a memory stick with hours of awesome anime to keep him distracted on the journey home.

So, yeah, she spies on her friends, but it’s not like they don’t know she’s doing it, and she always makes sure to turn off the display when one of them starts browsing in incognito mode – because they’re poor, little, innocent nooblets who think that using private tabs will actually hide what they’re doing.

Honestly, she doesn’t even really know _why_ she watches them constantly. It’s a bit like the compulsive need to get all of the collectables in a game, even when there’s no achievement for it. 

Futaba has always been a completionist at heart.

And if the information she gleans from their browsing history also works as a sort of strategy guide for interacting with them? Well, that’s just an added bonus. 

The only time that she had actually felt like she was being some creeper, was when she'd had to start her Akechi surveillance in November. It had been unavoidable, of course, since they knew that he was hiding something, and spying on him had turned out to be a literal ‘life or death’ thing for Ren – but she still feels bad about some of the stuff that she saw and heard while she was watching him.

When Ren first asked her to hack into Akechi’s phone, she hadn’t mentioned that she had actually _already_ tried to, but Akechi was cagey with his phone, and she hadn’t been able to get into it using her normal methods. He didn’t connect to Leblanc’s Wi-Fi when he was in the café, he wouldn’t open any of the attachments in the official looking emails she sent to the address off of his dorky little business cards, and he never had his Bluetooth on – even though most dummies who wear smartwatches just leave it on all the time, so their apps sync automatically, and they can fap to the amount of calories they’ve burned or whatever. 

When she finally got his phone in her physical hands (having to install her spyware in person like some pleb) she'd noticed that other than the standard social media stuff, he only had two third party apps installed: the meta-nav and some fitness thing that confirmed that he must have, at least, synced his watch with his phone occasionally. There had also been a small square of opaque black tape over the forward facing camera, and she had had to respect that level of paranoia.

That evening, when they’d all gone home after scoping out Makoto’s sister’s palace, she had tracked his phone to a set of apartments in the Honmachi residential district in Shibuya. A quick search of recent letting ads for the area showed mostly studio apartments that were going for between 150,000 and 200,000 yen a month, they hadn’t known about Akechi’s connection to Shido at that stage, but it had already been pretty obvious that he was being bankrolled by someone.

Once he was home, his phone had automatically connected to his Wi-Fi and there had suddenly been a bunch of stuff in the apartment that she had easy access to. The smart TV and smart speaker would have made great prank opportunities if she'd been dealing with one of her friends, but they still hadn’t known what Akechi’s whole deal was at that point, and she _had_ kind of had a Mainline Quest to take care of – so she'd ignored them for the more strategically important fact that there was also a laptop showing up on the list of available devices.

Not only was it easy-peasy to get into, it also had an unobstructed camera that she could hijack, and it had only taken a couple of seconds before she was able to get a proper look into his apartment. From the angle, she had figured that the laptop was on a stand or low table near the window, it left her with a pretty good view of the vast majority of the room.

And even though it was a pretty swanky place, it _was_ just a room; she could only see two doors, one of which was the entrance and the other one lead to the bathroom. The apartment was nice, but also a complete mess, although, nowhere near as bad as the way her room used to be when she was still in full shut-in mode.

One corner of the living area was taken up by a small but expensively modern looking kitchen; it must have gone mostly unused though, since the majority of the counter space and even the stovetop were covered with piles of school books, papers and a couple of convenience store bags that were haphazardly filled with garbage – an impressive tower of empty instant noodle pots teetered precariously out the top of one of them. 

It was kind of funny to find out that the Detective Prince was just another grubby teenager under all that sparkle, she was sure it would make his legions of fangirls go absolutely ape shit.

There was a long chest of drawers serving as a makeshift divider between the kitchen area and the ‘bedroom’, and a western style single bed (unmade, of course) was pushed up against the far wall, which seemed like a waste of the limited space when he could have just used a futon instead – but maybe it had come with the apartment or something. She could see even more books and some unwashed laundry lurking underneath.

The walls that she could see from the laptop’s little camera were blank, other than the large (at least 55 inches, she’d been _super_ jealous), wafer-thin TV that she could just see right at the edge of her feed – there were no posters or paintings, not even the bland motel-level junk that usually came with rental properties.

The only personal touch in the whole place was a really nice model raygun, mounted on a stand and in a fancy little display case, sitting smack-bang in the middle of the kotatsu that was in the centre of the room. She’d seen him use a similar gun in the metaverse, along with a literal laser sword; there was no way that he wasn’t a closet geek.

Akechi had been sitting at said kotatsu, scrolling through his phone instead of looking at the textbook that was open in front of him, and she knew, from where she still had his screen mirrored on one of her other monitors, that he was searching for mentions of himself on social media. Which was super lame, but she figured it was probably pretty normal for someone who was kind of famous.

And so, _Operation: Sketchy-Akechi_ had commenced. Each day had the same basic routine: He got up at 5:30 every morning (even on Sundays!) and went cycling for an hour, came home, showered, ironed his clothes for the day and went to school or the police station – then it was cram school or the TV studio in Akasaka Mitsuke.

He came home most evenings with a sad looking convenience store bento and even more paperwork to add to the pile, working on school assignments or casework until late into the night – that was, when he wasn’t rushing over to Kichijoji to spend time with their fearless leader.

And no matter how late he stayed up, he always found time for his insanely complicated skincare routine. It seemed like a total time-suck to Futaba, but she had a feeling that Ann would probably disagree.

More than once, he went to the underground in Shibuya and disappeared off her radar entirely, presumably to enter Mementos – they had already known that he was lying about when he got his powers (courtesy of Pancake-gate 2016), so it wasn’t surprising. That was when they’d still thought he was this straight-laced, amateur detective who was just playing his cards close to his chest, so she’d assumed he was just grinding, so he wouldn’t seem like such a noob when they went back to the casino or something. They’d seen his mask after all, and it was red – there was no way they could have guessed he was carrying out hits for Shido.

Womp womp. Hindsight, right?

At least she’d gotten lucky with the laptop, because he was the kind of person that had a stupid amount of stuff open at once and just left his machine on all the time, rather than saving and closing everything. It was easy to change the power settings so that the screen just went to sleep when he wasn’t active, rather than the laptop going into standby, which left Futaba with an uninterrupted video feed when he was home. 

Of course, she’d skimmed over what was actually _on_ the laptop, but hadn’t found anything relevant to their situation, just school assignments and police files. The only interesting thing on it was that he had a bunch of the early seasons of Phoenix Ranger Featherman R, and he was obviously a really hardcore fan, because it was some of the mega-obscure stuff from the 90s. It sucked, because she’d really wanted to talk to him about it, none of her friends were as into Featherman as she was, but it wasn’t like she could bring it up with him when she only knew about it because of her snooping.

Said snooping had never really been boring at least, because sprinkled throughout his busy routine there had been lots of other weird, cringey or just plain freaky stuff too. Like when he watched his own interviews on TV and literally took notes, creepily repeating some of the audio over and over again with slightly different inflections or expressions while he did it. He even sat and just practised his smile or his laugh in a little hand mirror sometimes, which – again, maybe that was a normal thing for a sort-of idol to do, but to Futaba, he’d just looked like a robot or an alien that was trying to perfect its human-disguise.

She’d recorded all of it, of course, and added it to her little ‘just in case' folder that she’d been compiling to use as counter-blackmail if he ever tried to seriously use those pictures of them entering the metaverse. It was mostly full of that kind of harmless unflattering stuff that she thought would just bruise his ego, like pictures of him when he was using the laptop and inelegantly picking his teeth – or the super funny one where he had his hair tied up, his bangs pinned back and this gloopy, green mask slathered all over his face.

She'd only gotten to the _really_ juicy stuff a couple of nights in. 

It had started out innocently enough, with Akechi in bed, hiding under the covers and scrolling endlessly through boring food blogs. She’d only been half paying attention to his screen, and was working away on some of her own stuff when she caught a lot of movement from the corner of her eye and had turned back to check on what he was looking at – nearly falling out of her chair when she’d come face to face with a grainy amateur video of some dude getting absolutely _railed_ by another guy in a public bathroom.

She’d hastily tapped the shortcut for the program she used to record video and take screenshots – squirrelling that new bit of ammunition away with all of the rest, because there was no way that she wasn’t going to save the evidence that the squeaky-clean Detective Prince was actually a closet case. It would probably have been a total career-killer for him, she knew that his target demographic skewed conservative, and even his rabid fangirls would probably want him flayed in the street for ruining their self-insert fantasies.

It sucked, but she knew that people were assholes when you tried to exist outside whatever box they'd decided to put you in.

She hadn’t been too fazed by accidentally getting an eyeful of some relatively tame porn (nobody can go as deep into the internet as Futaba has without seeing some _serious_ shit) – or at least, she was fine as long as she didn’t have to think _too_ closely about what Akechi was doing while he was watching it anyways. It was just different and _way_ more embarrassing when you actually knew the person, so she’d resolved to give him some privacy for fifteen-ish minutes, and turned back to her code.

If she puts on her retrospectacles, she knows that she really _should_ have remembered to mute the feed from the laptop, but she’d been distracted, and actually feeling kind of guilty for thinking about using something so private against him – even though he was the one who had blackmailed them in the first place. So, she hadn’t realised her colossal mistake until after she'd heard him moan right in her ear and nearly had a freaking heart attack. 

She’d ended up ripping her headphones off, throwing them onto her bed, and then spending way too long rummaging through her manga collection to try and find something so shoujo and sparkly that it would bleach her brain clean.

The next day, they’d all gone into Mementos together as a group, and Futaba had been constantly caught somewhere between bluescreening and hysterical laughter every time she had to talk to him. It only got worse when they stopped in a rest area to chug some coffee and go over their remaining requests, Akechi had sat down heavily on one of the plastic seats and made this stupid _sound_ that had her feeling like she was going to _die_ from second-hand embarrassment. Nobody commented on her behaviour if they noticed, though – maybe they thought she was just being awkward around the New Guy who was also blackmailing them, and not because she’d accidentally overheard what he sounded like when he was jerking it.

It _had_ struck her as funny though, how different the exchanges between Akechi and Ren seemed once she knew that he was into guys, both when they were fighting together and spending time with each other outside of the metaverse. Futaba had noticed it more and more as she continued her surveillance, and she tried not to think too hard about the surprisingly genuine smile on his face whenever Ren called him or replied to one of his texts. 

Because she had very quickly found out that Goro Akechi was hiding a lot more than his suddenly obvious crush on Ren, being a secret geek, or when exactly he’d gained access to the metaverse.

It began with him getting these weird texts, from dummy phone numbers, that were clearly written in code (it took _weeks_ of running them through a cipher algorithm before she could actually crack them, and by then it was far too late for any of the people listed in those messages), the texts were suspicious enough on their own but there were also the phone calls. She knows now that Akechi was talking to Shido, of course – but at the time, all she knew was that the guy on the other end of the line sounded shady AF, like there were fifty layers of hidden meaning under everything he said. He was very good at talking for _forever_ without really saying anything at all, or at least not saying anything incriminating anyway. 

She should have known he was a skeezball politician.

One evening, she was listening in on another one of those calls, and Shifty Dude was obviously getting impatient about _something_ , barking down the phone about results and deadlines with a poorly concealed threat in his voice. Akechi had fobbed him off with bland affirmatives, and she’d actually been kind of impressed at how calm he was – because she had been quaking in her seat even though she was very far away and safe behind her computer screen.

The way he was speaking to Akechi just reminded her way too much of her shitty uncle.

After the call ended, Futaba had watched Akechi throw his phone onto his bed and stalk into the kitchen, fumbling through one of the cupboards with shaky hands – obviously not as unaffected as he’d seemed only moments before. He'd taken out a glass, but his hands had been trembling so violently that it slipped out of his grip, falling to the floor with a loud crash, and breaking into a bunch of jagged pieces. 

Futaba had nearly jumped out of her skin, but Akechi didn’t react, not immediately anyway – just stared down at the mess on the floor for a few beats, before he'd reached down and picked up one of the shards. She’d watched with wide eyes as he _squeezed_ it in his fist, and his expression stayed terrifyingly blank while big fat drops of blood had slipped between his fingers and down onto the floor.

She’d scrambled to try and think of something, _anything,_ she could do to interrupt him without blowing her cover, and before he could cut his stupid fingers off. In the end, she'd taken control of his phone, turned the ringer volume all the way up and sent him a hastily thrown together, fake marketing text that she hoped he wouldn’t look too closely at.

The message tone had been loud and jarring in the quiet apartment, and it made Futaba jump again even though she was expecting it. Thankfully, it also snapped Akechi out of whatever weird, meatspace status effect he’d been afflicted with, and he dropped the sharp piece of glass with a hiss and a pained flick of his wrist that sent a spray of blood across the floor – Futaba probably would have fainted if she hadn’t also been so seriously keyed up.

He’d ran his hand under the tap at the kitchen sink, before holding it up to the light to examine it with this hard, almost clinical look on his face – it made Futaba think that it probably hadn’t been the first time something like this had happened, which was just mega-depressing. Eventually, he'd wrapped a couple of paper towels around his hand and headed for the bathroom, she watched the door click shut behind him with dismay and tried not to freak out too much because she'd had _no idea_ what to do. Her experience with self-harm might have been of the more passive variety (shutting herself away, not eating enough or consistently, and not bathing for days or sometimes weeks at a time), but she knew that he needed help, she just couldn’t think of a way to get it to him that wouldn’t also jeopardise everything they’d worked for.

When he’d come back into view again his left hand was lightly bandaged but seemed otherwise okay – or at least, he wasn’t holding it weirdly or anything when he picked up his phone. She’d been relieved that he probably hadn’t done himself any serious damage. It was another one of those things that, looking back on it months later, was kind of funny – because maybe if he’d really messed up his dominant hand it would’ve interfered with his part-time assassin gig and saved them all a whole lot of trouble.

The mirrored phone display showed him dismiss her text without reading it, before he typed a number in from memory and pressed the 'call' button.

“Akechi.” it was The Shady Douchebag, and he sounded _pissed_. The number was different from the one they usually used, and Futaba figured that the call must have been to a burner phone. “You’d better have a good reason for disturbing me again.”

“My apologies, sir.” Akechi had replied, his voice was impressively steady, considering how shaken he had been earlier. “I was reflecting on our conversation regarding the upcoming deadline, and I think I have a solution that will wrap things up nicely for all parties involved.”

“This line is secure, boy. You don’t need to beat around the bush.”

Futaba can still remember how she’d rolled her eyes and laughed at the idea of _any_ line being secure, tapping the key to record the audio absent-mindedly just before Akechi started talking again.

He’d started outlining a detailed plan to capture them, or at least Ren, in Makoto’s sister’s palace – even bringing an army of police mooks into the metaverse to do it. It was overkill and it was _über shitty_ but it was also pretty much what they’d already assumed was their worst case scenario with Akechi; that he was still going to try and have them arrested, despite the deal he’d made with them – she had not been prepared for what came next.

“Let me see...” Akechi had paused for dramatic effect, tapping his chin with one finger in the way she’d seen him practice in front of the mirror. “We could say he stole the guard’s gun while he was in custody... How about that?”

Futaba’s room had suddenly seemed very small, claustrophobic and hot despite the November chill – like a tomb all over again, and she’d been unable to focus on the rest of what he was saying. It was like her brain was just throwing error after error, because she had actually kind of started to _like_ Akechi while she’d been keeping an eye on him, she’d even been rooting for him and his goofy flirting with Ren – she couldn’t wrap her head around him talking about murdering her friend, her _brother_ , like he was arranging a business lunch.

When the conversation finally ended and Akechi had hung up the phone, she’d been grateful that everything had been recorded because she hadn’t been able to parse _half_ of what he said – her heart had been pounding too loudly in her ears.

By then, it had already been late by Ren’s (or Mona’s) standards, and he didn’t answer when she tried to call his phone, so she’d just gone back to watching the monitor and trying not to have a panic attack. Akechi had gotten ready for bed pretty much immediately after that, and Futaba had been irrationally annoyed on top of everything else when he didn’t seem to have any trouble drifting off.

It had been an awful night for her, at least, at that point she’d already been awake for the guts of twenty-four hours and was way too amped to even think about going to bed herself. So she’d spent her time listening to the recording over and over again, trying her best to come up with some way out of the mess that they were suddenly neck deep in.

Sojiro had been, understandably, surprised when she came downstairs in the morning, just a little after six, to walk with him to Leblanc – he hadn’t pushed for an explanation once she said that she needed to talk to Ren about some important Phantom Thief business. He just told her that he hoped they were being careful, in that gruffly concerned way of his, and she’d felt bad for keeping him in the dark.

And It had only gotten worse from there, sitting up in the café's attic with Mona and Ren while she tried to explain, stuttering and stumbling over her words in a way that she hadn’t done around either of them in months. Ren had still seemed half asleep until she actually started playing the recording, filling the quiet morning air with the casual discussion of his assassination – and he’d very quickly gone from tired to looking like he’d chowed down on a mouthful of Dr. Takemi's Alert Capsules.

Ren is usually hard to read, but she remembers how clear the shock and the hurt was in his eyes, before he’d hidden it all by switching to Leader Mode – they’d had a murder plot to foil after all, and it was easy to get swept up in the planning. Especially once they’d looped Makoto in, and their scheme had really started to take shape.

It was hard at first, pretending that everything was fine when they had to be around Akechi – in Mementos, and in the last couple of runs through the casino. Eventually, they were ready to send the calling card, but they still had to wait a week until the deadline that Akechi had given them. Futaba had already forgotten whatever his baloney excuse had been for that, she’d been too focussed on the fact it was actually a countdown until he tried to kill Ren.

Ren had actually kind of scared her, in that last week, he knew what was going to happen, but she could tell from his, and Akechi’s, GPS data that they spent pretty much every evening together in the run up to the 19th – hanging out in the jazz club and penguin sniper as if everything was normal. They’d even gone into Mementos together, and she’d only found out later that Mona had let them go in alone – she’d nearly pinched his fuzzy, little cheeks right off his face for being such a dumbbutt.

Otherwise, her surveillance had continued as normal, pretty much. Although, all of Akechi’s outings with Ren meant that he didn’t get home until late, and she didn’t have to look at his stupid face on her feed as much – which was nice. 

There weren’t any more phone calls either, not until the 20th, and after they’d already pulled the trigger (haha) on their switcheroo scheme.

And not only did their plan go off without a hitch, they must have all combined their luck stats or something, because when Akechi called in to report his ‘success’ he got sloppy – dropping Shido’s name about two seconds into the phone call.

Futaba had been riding high (Ren was safe and back in Leblanc, _and_ they had the Big Bad's name), when she saw Akechi finally open the door to his apartment that evening, she remembers flipping him off with both hands and yelling something like “suck it, loser!” at the screen.

He’d made this angry sound through his teeth, and she’d been terrified for a second that he’d somehow heard her, she'd even yelped out loud when he threw his douchey, monogrammed briefcase across the room. 

It had bounced off the wall and popped open, sending papers, pens and a couple of manila folders, flying everywhere. She’d sat in stunned silence, mouth agape, as he’d had a full-on nuclear _meltdown_ , sweeping all the books and garbage off the kitchen counters – grabbing and punting a day-old takeout carton into the air with one of his polished shoes, so hard that it exploded messily against the ceiling. Futaba had watched the rain of leftover fried rice and vegetables fall down around him in what felt like slow motion, as he reached out and nearly yanked a cupboard door off its freaking hinges, and then just started pulling glasses and dishes out at random to smash on the floor and against the wall. 

She still doesn’t understand how no-one called the police, either his neighbours were out or they were _deaf_. Although, now that she thinks about it... with how deep Shido’s conspiracy went, there was probably a good chance that any neighbours that Akechi had were actually spies anyway.

It had felt like a million years but his tantrum probably lasted all of five minutes, before he was just standing there in the centre of the destroyed kitchen, chest heaving and face flushed and sweaty. She’d been wondering if he was going to start trashing the rest of the place, when he’d just sort of _crumpled_ , leaning back against the front of the fridge and slipping down to the floor. He'd covered his mouth with his hands and just started _screaming_ into them, until he was hoarse and the noise he was making began to sound more like sobbing than anything else.

She hadn’t known _what_ to do with the weird mixture of satisfaction and pity she’d felt, watching him completely flip his shit, because she’d wanted to be mad at him... but it was just _sad,_ really. Especially when she thought back on it, after he’d spilled his guts to them in the engine room, or when they finally went up against Shido for real, and they heard all of the awful shit he thought about Akechi-

_“...Futaba?”_

There’s something soft tickling her nose and batting at her cheek.

“Oi, Futaba!” Mona's scratchy, not-quite-whisper comes from somewhere very close to her ear. “Futaba, wake up!”

She opens her eyes and blinks up at the cat looming over her. She _really_ should have closed her window before settling down for the night.

“Mooooonaaaa,” she groans, covering her face with her hands. “I’m _trying_ to sleep.”

Not that it had been going very well, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“ _Akechi_ is in Leblanc.”

What.

Futaba feels a little like her internal OS gets stuck in a boot-loop for a couple of seconds before she remembers how to do basic things, like thinking or stringing a sentence together.

“ _What?!_ ” she almost yells before catching herself, remembering that Sojiro is asleep down the hall. “ _How?!_ He’s supposed to be _dead!_ Again! Re-dead!”

Had she become a necromancer without realising it? Did she _think_ Akechi back into existence somehow, and now he's going to haunt Leblanc as some weird revenge for her remembering all of his embarrassing crap? 

“Ren said something about the Velvet Room...” Mona starts, his tail lashing back and forth in the universal language of unhappy kitties everywhere. “It doesn’t matter! What’s important is that he’s there _now_. Ren asked me to let them talk – alone, but I heard something... it sounded like an argument and then... a scuffle? Maybe. I’m not sure, but I didn’t want to try to help only for it to just end up like that time with Haru's ex-fiancé...”

Akechi _is_ a dick, but that still seems like an unfair comparison. 

“And what do you expect _me_ to do, Mona?” she whispers back, starting to feel exasperated as she reaches out to grab her glasses and her headphones off the desk. “Yeah, one sec, let me just send Sojiro over to Leblanc to break up a fight between two guys who are less than half his age, and also, one of them used to be a supernatural hitman. Seems like a great-“

The words die in her mouth, because she’s got her headphones on now, and her system is always tuned into the café’s feed by default – and yeah, Akechi _is_ in Leblanc, and he’s definitely _not_ dead. She wishes she could say the same thing about her brain.

“What’s wrong?” Morgana asks. He sounds very far away. “Is Ren okay?”

Ren is _very_ okay, if what she’s hearing is any indication anyway. It sounds like they’re nearly on top of one of her bugs. Yikes. She hits mute and pushes away from the desk with a slightly hysterical giggle.

Mona jumps down onto her legs before she can pull them up to her chest, definitely using more claw than is really necessary. Ouch. 

“ _Futaba_ , what’s happening over there?”

“They’re not _fighting_ , Mona.” She tries to say it with as much implication in her tone as possible, throwing in an exaggerated wink for good measure – telepathically pleading with him to just _get it_ without her having to explain.

He just looks confused. Oh God, she’s really going to have to have The Talk with their _cat_ , isn’t she? She clears her throat awkwardly. 

“Uh, when two rivals love each other very much-“

Morgana interrupts her with a weird, strangled noise that makes it sound like he’s going to hack up a hairball right there on her lap. 

“They’re not...!” he splutters – she can almost see him adding it up in his head, like the Confused Math Lady meme. “There’s no way. Ren would have told me...” 

Welp, she tried.

She’s always found it easier to show rather than tell anyways.

She shrugs and pushes Morgana off her lap, he jumps up onto the desk and sits down beside her keyboard – his tail still flicking from side to side in agitation. She switches her speakers on, making sure the dial is only just above its lowest setting, before letting her finger hover over the mute key.

“Last chance to back out, Mona.”

“I think you’re messing with me, and they’re just talking.” He narrows his eyes suspiciously at her. “Probably...”

“Famous last words.” She says solemnly, sending Ren a mental apology, before turning the audio on.

There’s just some rustling over the feed for a few seconds and Futaba sees Morgana start to look smug before Ren's voice comes out of the speaker, clear and husky. 

_“Do you_ really _think you can be quiet?”_

And Oh My God, she could have died happily without _ever_ having heard Ren repurposing his Joker Voice for _sex things_ , but it’s worth it for the way that Mona looks like he’s about to have a stroke.

He stays frozen in place, looking more like a stuffed animal than a real cat – she reaches out to poke him, and he swipes at her finger angrily, she hardly feels the scratch though, because that’s when they hear Akechi moan like a character from one of her H-games. Morgana jumps up like someone pulled his tail, and starts mashing her keyboard with his paw, he _is_ in the general area of where the mute key is but somehow manages to miss it _every single time._

Someone touching anything on her desk is usually more than enough to put her in Rage Mode, but she’s laughing too hard right now to care, and trying even harder not to make any noise. By the time Mona does actually succeed in turning the audio off, her ribs and the muscles in her abdomen hurt _so much,_ and she’s literally gasping for air.

“I tried to warn you,” she wheezes, pushing her glasses up and out of the way to rub the tears out of her eyes.

“You’re really mean sometimes, Futaba. You know that?” He huffs, jumping up to his favourite spot on top of her computer tower and curling up.

“Yeah, yeah,” she replies, still trying to catch her breath, as she waves a dismissive hand at him.

Things are very awkward and very quiet after that, while she turns her speakers back off, and fixes the handful of windows that opened while Mona was keyboard mashing.

“I know that some people are weird about... that kind of stuff.” Morgana says, eventually, wearing his Serious Face. “When it’s two boys or two girls, I mean – but I wasn’t being like that, even though I _was_ surprised. Just, uh, just so you know.”

Ah, this is kind of cute. He’s lucky that he’s out of cheek-squishing range. She has a pretty good idea of what he’s getting at anyway. “It’s because it’s Akechi, right?”

“Yeah, it is.” He sounds relieved. “Although, I guess, it’s kind of obvious when you stop to think about it, huh?”

She’s been literally watching them dance around their feelings for each other, through murder plots and timeline fuckery, for months, so she just hums in agreement.

They fall into a much more comfortable silence this time, and it isn’t long before Morgana is snoring softly up on his perch. She knows that there’s no universe in which she’d actually be able to go to sleep now, so she bends down to peer into her mini fridge instead. There’s no Mad Bull left but there are a couple of cans of Dr. Salt NEO, which _should_ be enough caffeine to keep her going – that, or make her heart explode. 

She’s trying to find something to do, since she’s not going to be sleeping, when she remembers that she was thinking of asking Ren to approach Sumire about her borked phone. It’s as good a time as any to set up that isolated environment, she supposes. 

She roots out an old laptop and starts setting it up, getting so lost in the familiar process that she’s not sure how much time passes before there’s a flicker from the monitor to her left. She looks up and sees that Ren has just plugged his phone in to charge, she seizes the opportunity to make contact and starts typing without thinking.

**-Ren Amamiya-**

**19/03/2017**

**4:27 a.m.**

> **Futaba:** Mona is here with me if ur looking for him...

It's only a few seconds before she can see that he’s read it at least, so she continues typing.

> **Futaba:** tell Akechi congrats on the respawn I guess
> 
> ┐(￣ヘ￣;)┌

She half writes a couple of messages that poke fun at the fact that she overheard way more than she ever wanted to, but none of them feel right, and she has to start over. Then she thinks of something that gets the point across, while also throwing some good-natured shade at Akechi. Perfect.

> **Futaba:** if playing visual novels has taught me anything its that going the yandere route usually gets you the Bad End 
> 
> 〣( ºΔº )〣
> 
> **Futaba:** just be careful ok? 
> 
> **Ren:** 👍

She puts her head in her hands and starts snickering to herself again, she’s used to him being mostly silent in the group chat (and in person), so she really shouldn’t have expected that this would be any different.

Futaba sits up and looks back down at the laptop she’s going to use to fix Sumire’s disaster of a phone – it’s time to get back to work.

She tries not to get too distracted by thoughts of a bouncy, red ponytail that always smells like strawberry shampoo, or being called 'senpai' in a cute, chirpy, little voice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I need to invest in a neck brace, switching from writing Futaba's POV back to Akechi is after giving me some serious whiplash.
> 
> There are dates written out a handful of times in this chapter, just a heads up that they're formatted as dd/mm/yyyy.
> 
> Thanks again, guys, for all of your lovely comments and for the kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks.
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter include: implied child abuse, mentions of vomit and references to some canon gore/violence.

Goro feels a little bit like he’s been flayed alive, completely stripped bare and exposed in a way that dangerously straddles the line between unbearable and liberating. It's as if his skin has been peeled away, lovingly, and gentle hands have pried each one of his ribs outwards, until everything inside could be scooped out to make a cosy, little hollow for the boy sleeping in his arms.

He _knows_ he’s being stupid and dramatic, of course – that his brain is swimming in an unfamiliar and potent cocktail of endorphins, oxytocin and dopamine (courtesy of one incredibly intense orgasm, a mortifying amount of crying and the most physical contact he's had in close to a decade), and that's why he feels like a stranger in his own skin, simultaneously ill at ease and the most content he's ever felt in his life.

Ren's words are still clear in his mind, sweet and so fucking _sure_ of himself, saying that Goro is _'allowed to be happy_ ' – as if wanting your would-be murderer to be happy is the most natural thing in the world and not complete and utter lunacy. And that's not even the _main_ issue he has with what Ren said, because the thing about his relationship with _that_ particular emotion is that he's not entirely sure that he's capable of it; not in any sustained or healthy way, at least. For years, the closest he's ever come to actually achieving happiness has always been through indulging in its sharper and less savoury cousins – like smug satisfaction and vindictive glee. 

The kind of feelings that only ever come at the expense of others.

He doesn't know what to do with himself or this soft, frighteningly delicate thing that's decided to make its home behind his breastbone – he feels clumsy and dangerous with it, like a cat trying to carry a fledgeling bird in its sharp maw without crushing it.

There has to have been a mix-up, really, because even if he _hadn't_ tried to kill Ren (twice!), he still knows that people like him aren't _made_ to be happy or content – that he's always been _far_ too much like his mother in that regard. He certainly hasn't earned the right to be laying in bed next to humanity's champion and saviour, especially when he's well aware of the fact that Ren could have his pick of any one of his insufferably virtuous, and infinitely more appropriate, friends instead. Goro's not stupid or _blind_ , he's seen the way the female Thieves and Kitagawa look at Ren – all wistful longing and doe-eyed adoration. And he's sure that even _Sakamoto_ would happily drop to his knees if his ' _bro_ ' asked him to.

He pushes aside the ugly, covetous feeling that squirms in his chest, it's _almost_ funny just how quickly his own subconscious jumped at the chance to sabotage his relatively good mood, and tried to make it into something unpleasant and distinctly green-eyed.

He shouldn't _have_ to be thinking about all of this crap right now anyway. 

Why isn't he asleep yet?

His eyes may be sore and his nose (which thankfully, hadn’t run while he’d been sobbing all over Ren, like some kind of simpleton) is uncomfortably plugged up, but he can still feel the exhaustion in his blood, in the marrow of his bones, all the way down to the very fabric of his wretched being.

Someone forgot to actually relay that information to his brain, unfortunately.

He supposes, that there’s a good chance that being stuck in the Velvet Room for months on end might count as some sort of supernatural hibernation, and that his body doesn’t technically _need_ to sleep right now – caught in some strange limbo between being worn-out and well rested.

It could also be because he is completely _wired_ on top of the exhaustion, and still in absolute disbelief about what happened with Ren downstairs. Honestly, he wouldn’t be too surprised if everything since the thirteenth of December turned out to be a vivid fever dream, cooked up by his dying brain, while he actually bleeds out for real, all alone in his father’s shitty palace.

Which is just _more_ self-flagellating bullshit that he’s going to pretend never even occurred to him in the first place. 

Even if he knows that it’s far more than he deserves.

For fuck's sake. _Stop it_.

He'd slap himself if he wasn't so sure that it would disturb Ren, so he just exhales (with some difficulty) through his stuffy nose and opens his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that he’s not going to be able to get to sleep any time soon. 

He slowly and carefully extracts himself from the mess of gangly limbs he’s thoroughly tangled in (going deathly still the one time that Ren stirs, and only resuming his movements once the other boy has settled again), and hoists himself, gently, up into a sitting position, resting his back against the wall at the head of the bed.

Ren left the lamp on earlier, and Goro would like to lay the blame for his inability to sleep on it, but it’s not especially bright as lamps go, and the attic is large – the weak glow of the bulb barely reaches the far wall, and it isn't really any worse than the light pollution that he's used to anyway, bleeding through the blinds in his apartment. 

It _does_ still illuminate things enough for Goro to indulge himself in a little staring, while Ren is unaware, however. Which he knows is probably considered weird and maybe even a little crass – it _definitely_ falls under the umbrella of the stalking behaviour that Ren had rudely (and correctly) accused him of earlier, although, with how their relationship has progressed maybe it’s actually considered... _romantic_?

Goro grimaces and rubs at his face roughly with the back of his hand, just the thought of something so _sappy_ gives him an unpleasant queasy feeling low in his gut, at the same time that it makes his heart flutter in his chest.

_Disgusting_.

His eyes linger though, regardless – greedily drinking in the way Ren’s sleep softened features look almost ludicrously cherubic in the dim light, with his lips slightly parted and dark eyelashes fanned flatteringly against his pale skin.

And then Ren makes a decidedly _un_ -angelic snuffling noise in his sleep, and turns over so that he's facing the wall, as if he's somehow aware of the fact that he has an audience. Goro has to stifle a fond chuckle with the back of his hand.

Deprived of the distraction that is Ren’s obnoxiously pretty face, he casts his eyes around the attic and realises that he's never really had the opportunity to just _look_ around Ren's room – any time he'd been here previously was for the Phantom Thief meetings in November, and the atmosphere then had been far too tense for him to really pay close attention to anything other than maintaining his cover. That, and awkwardly inserting himself into Ren's personal space whenever the opportunity had presented itself, he can still remember standing behind Ren with one hand gripping the back of his chair possessively – and how he'd actually managed to rationalise that away to himself as an 'intimidation tactic'...

Yes, the less he thinks about _that_ , the better.

Putting aside his embarrassingly deluded past behaviour for the moment, he gets back to scoping out the attic; it's the complete opposite of his own living space in almost every way. His apartment is like a shiny and expensive bauble, a carrot at the end of a stick, 'gifted' to him by Shido at the very beginning of their... _partnership_. It had been a symbol of power and freedom for him at first, but like everything he'd received while working with his degenerate father, it lost its lustre very quickly. He _hates_ that apartment. 

And, actually, now that he thinks about it, there's a good chance that it's been seized as one of Shido's assets, now that the investigation is complete. 

Good _fucking_ riddance.

Ren's attic room, on the other hand, is full to the brim with that nebulous _something_ that makes a place feel like an actual 'home' – despite the fact that Goro would be extremely surprised if it actually qualified as anywhere _near_ habitable by any official standard. Some people might be shocked that the living conditions of a minor were so far below code, or that it hadn't, at the very least, been flagged by the social workers that were overseeing Ren's probation, but Goro's not surprised – he's all too familiar with just how much the 'system' is willing to let slide, either out of apathy or sheer incompetence. 

As far as he's concerned though, Ren is lucky; he's never seen Sojiro Sakura be anything other than kind, to Ren, or to the rag-tag band of metaphysical thieves he drags through here daily, even if the man’s idea of suitable housing for his charge does leave something to be desired.

His eyes skim over the shelves beside him; there’s a surprisingly large model swan boat there and, tucked in behind it, he can see Ren's toiletries in a plastic caddy. There's some cheap looking body wash, a 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, a large bottle of mouthwash and a plastic cup (the surface of which, is decorated with cutesy cartoon cats, because, _of course_ it is) that's holding a tube of toothpaste and a bright red toothbrush. He notes the box of tissues and the large pump bottle of lotion beside the caddy with raised eyebrows – although, maybe he needs to get his mind out of the gutter, because he can't fathom how Ren could actually find the privacy to make use of them for anything _interesting_ when he constantly has a talking cat glued to his side. 

A little further in on the shelf, he can just see his own neatly folded stack of clothes, nestled between some more of Ren's tacky souvenirs – and he’s willing to bet that there's one representing every single tourist trap in the city. It's not surprising; back when he was laying the groundwork for framing the Phantom Thieves, he’d tailed Ren, _a lot_ , so he’d had a front row seat to more than one of the many excursions that Ren went on with his impressively (and frustratingly) large roster of friends/acquaintances. But even so, seeing the evidence of all of the relationships that Ren has cultivated, in the short time he’s been in Tokyo, in one place like this… it just makes that jealous thing tug at his heart again – and truthfully, he's not sure if he's more envious of the people that Ren spends his time with, or if he's just being resentful about how easy it is for Ren to have made so many friends in the first place.

Which is just pathetic of him, really, but at least it's on brand.

Because he's not sure if he'll _ever_ be able to stop feeling bitter about how effortless Ren makes it look, how he just draws people to him with the kind of natural charisma and easy charm that Goro could never hope to have – not without hiding behind fifty layers of bullshit anyway.

He’s pulled out of what feels like his hundredth downward spiral of the night, when a hideously green t-shirt over by the desk catches his eye, and he makes a quiet amused noise through his nose when he sees the 'I ♥️ Tokyo' emblazoned across the front of it. It's almost _too_ cliché. Because, while Ren doesn't really give it away with his deceptively neutral accent – Goro knows, from his file, that Ren is from some no-name, fishing town, in the countryside and that t-shirt (even more so than all of the other souvenirs) makes him seem like just one more face in the endless sea of Tokyo's dazzled tourists. 

Even though he knows that Ren is the furthest thing from average or ordinary in any context.

Something that really stands out to him, about the various keepsakes around the attic, though, is the distinct lack of any that commemorate the outings (he hadn't called them dates at the time, and he's _not_ going to start now) that he and Ren had gone on over the last few months. It seems strange, considering how much time they spent together – and it wasn’t for lack of opportunity either, because they'd even gone to places like the aquarium, where there had been no shortage of souvenirs to buy, if you were so inclined. 

Under other circumstances, he might have actually been offended, but it's difficult to take it personally when he'd essentially caught Ren sleeping with his tie earlier, as if he were a child with a cherished stuffed animal.

He can actually see the tie near the end of the bed, presumably having been pushed down there while they were settling into their… sleeping arrangement – he refuses to think of it as _cuddling_ , despite all the evidence to the contrary. He stretches his leg out, hooking his toes under the tie, and carefully pulls it up the bed until he can catch it with his hand.

The fabric is limp and badly wrinkled, and when he runs his thumb over it, he can feel a few patches where the material is actually starting to wear thin, it's slightly bewildering to think that something so mundane had become so important to Ren in the handful of months since he'd left it here by mistake. 

Goro is not sentimental by nature, he can count the number of items he's ever been emotionally attached to on one hand (and the number of people on two fingers), and he cannot imagine doing the same thing with some token of Ren's if their positions were reversed. And they kind of had been, hadn’t they? For a couple of weeks, at least, when he'd fully thought that Ren was dead after his spectacular fuck-up on the 20th of November – the only indulgence he'd allowed himself regarding his complicated feelings on the matter had been an all consuming rage. He knows now that it was grief, and a _stupid_ fucking thing to feel when he'd only had himself to blame, but at the time, it had just been one more thing to fuel the fire he'd set around the pyre with his father's name on it – it hadn't seemed necessary to think about it too closely.

What would have been the point anyway? It wasn't like he had been planning on _living_ after he'd finally dealt with Shido.

His train of thought is derailed when Ren shifts suddenly beside him, and flops over onto his back with all of the grace of a fish out of water, swinging his left arm in a wide arc and dropping it heavily across the top of Goro's thighs. He has to grit his teeth against the undignified yelp and subsequent hysterical laughter that's nearly surprised out of him.

If Ren is usually this _active_ in his sleep, he has to wonder how Morgana hasn't been smothered or crushed to death yet. Ah, and isn't that a lovely thought?

One can only dream.

He takes Ren's hand in his own, threading the tie loosely between those long, elegant fingers, so that it stays relatively secure as he closes them around it. He gives Ren's fist a gentle squeeze as he carefully moves it back down into the space between them. 

Ren is quite clearly caught up in a dream, and Goro watches his eyes darting back and forth under his eyelids – making his long eyelashes flutter prettily.

Goro blinks and the small smile that was starting to form on his face freezes and contorts into something pained, as he's completely blind sided by the sudden clear image of what those eyelashes look like, wet and clumped together with the blood oozing from an entry wound of Goro’s own making – followed immediately by the memory of the meaty thud of Ren's head connecting with the cheap metal surface of the table in the interrogation room.

His stomach drops like a rock.

He covers his face with shaky hands and tries to regulate his breathing, which is rapidly threatening to devolve into hyperventilation, at the same time that his mouth floods with saliva and nausea rolls uncomfortably through him and up into his throat.

Fuck.

_No_.

Unsurprisingly, this isn’t his first experience with panic attacks brought on by _that_ particular set of intrusive thoughts, so he does actually manage to wrangle the alarm pulsing through him, and push it down, compartmentalising as much of it away as he can. His heart stops trying to thump its way through his sternum – but only just.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He doesn't know exactly how long he sits there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly, like a parody of some fucking Zen master in an old, shitty kung-fu movie, but it does the job. Even if there _is_ still an uncomfortable lump in his throat afterwards, and he's unsure about whether or not he’s actually going to vomit – he _does_ know that sitting here and waiting to find out is not a luxury he can afford, or a risk he’s willing to take, when he's not alone, it's not his bed, and the bathroom is so far away.

He has the forethought, at least, to grab the bottle of mouthwash as he gets up and out of the bed, with the practised ease and stealth of someone who spent the majority of his formative years sneaking around, and trying to avoid disturbing whatever adults he'd been living with at the time. Even his mother, who had mostly been sweet to him, would quickly turn nasty if he bothered her when she was having one of her bad days – which, unfortunately, had been almost every day near the end. 

The unfinished floorboards of the attic feel scratchy and unpleasant under his bare feet, and he absent-mindedly hopes that he doesn’t get a splinter, before he’s on to the more polished wood of the stairs and descending into the café.

Goro's nearly at the bottom of the stairs, when one of the steps creaks loudly as he puts his weight on it, and his sick feeling is promptly joined by a reflexive stab of panicky dread. As a child, he'd had to learn the hard way that it was best to creep past the closed doors of some of his particularly unsavoury foster parents. The threat of violence is a potent motivator, and the impulse to make as little noise (or take up as little space) as possible in this context is a habit that he’s never really been able to break, even after living alone for nearly three years now.

He waits a few beats, frozen in place and holding his breath (as if he were some petrified prey animal that just heard a twig snap in the undergrowth), until he's reasonably sure that Ren is still asleep, and he hurries down the last couple of stairs and into the restroom.

The little bathroom has always been mercifully clean for one that’s open to the public, he’s never been sure if that’s down to any real effort on Sakura or Ren’s part, or just a result of Leblanc having an ageing and not especially large customer base, but he's immensely grateful for it now. 

The urge to vomit _has_ mostly subsided, thankfully, but he does kind of need to urinate, so it's not a total waste of a trip at least.

After he's done, he goes to the sink to wash his hands and splash some water on his face, wishing that he had something to keep his hair out of the way properly while he does it. The cold water goes a long way to making him feel better, a little more _human_ , and less like a walking bundle of frayed nerves. He looks up and meets his own eyes in the mirror and is greeted by a face that is trying its best to be red and puffy on top of being sickly pale, the skin under his eyes looks almost bruised – ugh, he'd _kill_ for a cooling gel eye mask right now.

It's a good thing that the nausea has eased a little, because he does _not_ want to think about puking up food that’s technically _three fucking months old_ -

His stomach clenches painfully at the thought.

_Motherfucker_.

He only just makes it in time, as he drops to his knees on the floor in front of the toilet, and everything comes up – so violently that he definitely manages to pull _something_ between his shoulder blades. Fantastic.

" _God fucking damn it…_ " he hisses weakly, when the retching finally stops. He brushes his hair back out of his face with a trembling hand, and at least it doesn't feel like he got any vomit in it. Small mercies.

Goro waits until he's sure that his insides have stopped trying to kill him, before he even tries to move. He stands and flushes the toilet, wincing at how loud it sounds, but he figures that if Ren hadn't woken up at the sound of him puking his guts up, then he's probably not going to be roused by a little running water. Hopefully.

He walks back to the sink on slightly wobbly legs and grabs the bottle of mouthwash. It's one of those big '50% extra free' bottles, and still mostly full, but Goro ends up going through the majority of it anyway, gargling until the alcohol has his eyes streaming and the inside of his mouth feels like it's on fire. 

When he leaves the bathroom, he stops to grab his bottle of water off the bar – he’s parched, but he doesn’t risk more than a couple of tentative sips, because he’s still very wary of his treacherous stomach. He heads for the stairs, and at least the journey back up is probably slightly closer to silent than the one on the way down had been, now that his body has finished its petty act of rebellion, and he's aware of that creaky stair – which he glares at, petulantly, as he steps over it.

Ren is still fast asleep, and apparently blissfully unaware, having hardly moved at all since Goro left the bed. One point in favour of Ren having a bed with no real frame, at least, is that there’s no need to worry about disturbing Ren as he gets back in. Since there are no springs or any kind of support under the mattress – it doesn't dip or sag at all as Goro reclaims his earlier place, sitting back up against the wall. He reaches, carefully, over to the windowsill to grab his phone, being mindful of the cable so that it’s mostly tucked around the edge of the bed and is as much out of Ren's way as possible – he doesn’t want the other boy to get caught in it if he starts rolling around again. 

Goro can still remember how he'd set his phone to 'airplane mode' after jumping into the metaverse to pursue the Thieves in his father's palace, it had seemed prudent at the time – since he had been concerned that it might have given his presence away to Futaba Sakura otherwise. He's still not sure if that's how her powers _actually_ work, but regardless, it's how he knows, as he turns the phone on, that he'll have the opportunity to put it on 'silent' and turn off the vibration, before he reconnects to the network and gets flooded with notifications.

And 'flooded' turns out to be an understatement, there are _scores_ of messages, voicemails and missed calls, far more than he remembers there being when he'd checked his phone on Maruki's version of Christmas Eve. And, he supposes, that it would be very much in character for that simpering fool of a counsellor, to think that he was doing him a kindness by cleaning the notifications up a little, and getting rid of some of the especially unpleasant messages – in fact, Goro wouldn't be surprised if he'd sneaked in some completely fabricated niceties while he was at it.

The joke's on Maruki though, because he hadn't actually looked at any of them at the time, and had just highlighted everything, marking them all as 'read' without a second thought. He's not even sure _why_ , looking back on it, perhaps he'd simply already realised that something was _off_ , even at that early stage.

He checks the list of missed calls, they’re from his school, his home room teacher, his agent, his publicist, Shido, a handful of unknown numbers and of course, Ren.

He briefly entertains the idea of dialling into his voicemail, but he has a feeling that the sound of his father shouting down the receiver might be the thing that's finally loud enough to wake the boy beside him. So he opens the messaging app instead, scrolling quickly to the bottom so that he can read the older texts first.

His rent and all of his bills have always been paid automatically by Shido, and since he doesn't appear to have any missed calls or angry messages from his landlord, and his phone service hasn't been cut off, he has to assume that they're all still being taken care of, somehow – maybe automatically, from some offshore account that the authorities haven't tracked down yet.

He probably shouldn't be so amused by the increasingly annoyed and vaguely panicked texts from his publicist and his agent, because he'd apparently had three TV spots and an autograph signing booked before he'd dropped off the face of the earth, but it's hard not to find it a little funny – when they were acting like something so trivial was the literal end of the world. 

They’re bridges that he’s happy to have burned, honestly, if he ever sets foot in a God-forsaken TV studio again it will be too soon.

There are messages from the prosecutor's office, the police station and even a handful (inexplicably) from concerned classmates, and none of it really stands out as important until he sees Sae-san's name. The date on the text is from nearly a week after the engine room.

**-Sae Niijima-**

**19/12/2016**

**9:32 p.m.**

> **Sae:** Akechi-kun, Makoto told me about what happened... 
> 
> **Sae:** I should have noticed something. I wish that I could have been the adult that you felt like you could reach out to. Maybe I could have done something to help.
> 
> **Sae:** I feel like I failed you, Akechi-kun. I'm so sorry.

Reading that makes him feel a little strange, because while he really does genuinely like and respect Sae Niijima, he'd been nothing other than passive aggressive and unpleasant to her in the last few months of their working relationship. Since he'd been under strict orders from Shido to undermine her confidence and help contribute to the formation of her palace, so that they would have a nice controlled space to corner and trap the Phantom Thieves. He’s surprised, confused, and even a little touched that she felt the need to apologise to him, of all people.

He frowns down at the screen for a few seconds, reading back over what she said a couple of times, before backing out to start scrolling again.

The vast majority of the correspondence dries up as the dates get closer to the end of December, it’s peculiar and more than a little disconcerting – although, he does have a vague recollection of Ren saying something about Yaldabaoth trying to erase the Phantom Thieves from the public consciousness, he wonders if he got caught up in some sort of collateral damage, or if he's actually just _that_ forgettable.

The group chat that they’d all used in January is gone, of course, wiped out of existence when the timeline reset itself. But the one from November is still there and, strangely, there’s actually a handful of new notifications – it’s with genuine confusion that he taps the icon for the thread and scrolls down to the last read reply. It’s his own, from the night before they went in to steal Sae-san’s treasure, and he cringes a little as he reads it ('what a wonderful, trusting relationship. I will do my best in this as well.'), he can remember thinking he was _so clever_ when he wrote it. It's painful.

The next reply is from the 13th of December. 

The day he 'died'.

**-Casino Heist 🃏 Jokers are Wild-**

**13/12/2016**

**6:17 p.m.**

> **Ren:** Akechi, we meant what we said in the palace.
> 
> **Ryuji:** yeah man! help us take down ur shitty dad!
> 
> **Futaba:** im still mad at u! but im a sucker 4 a good redemption arc! lets do this 
> 
> ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
> 
> **Makoto:** You're not just some tool to be used and discarded, Akechi-kun.
> 
> **Yusuke:** I certainly feel that there would be a certain poetic justice to it – if you were to be instrumental in Shido's defeat.
> 
> **Ann:** We'll change that bastard's heart together!
> 
> **Haru:** You need to atone for everything you've done, Akechi-kun. This can be the first step towards making things right.

None of what they said is new to him, it's essentially what they'd already expressed to him in the engine room, after all. It still hits him like a punch to the gut though, and he scrubs at his eyes angrily with his free hand, pretending that it doesn't come away wet as he moves down the thread. 

**18/12/2016**

**8:12 p.m.**

> **Ren:** He confessed, Akechi. We did it.
> 
> **Makoto:** My sister is going to make sure that he pays for his crimes, Akechi-kun.
> 
> **Ann:** Akechi… I hope that you've found peace, wherever you are.

He's _not_ going to cry. His eyes are just blurry because he's tired, and not because of this pack of goodie-goodie, bleeding heart, _assholes_.

He's feeling grateful and spiteful in equal parts, when he quickly taps out a response (just a simple 'thank you'), and he thinks about what a shame it is that he won't be able to witness their reactions in person, when they see that there's a reply from 'beyond the grave'.

He hits send before he can change his mind, and then spends a few moments dragging his metaphorical heels about checking his last unread message. It's from Ren. No surprise there.

While he's still deliberating about whether or not he should just delete it without reading it, like a coward, he gets another incoming text. It's a private message from Futaba Sakura, which is, honestly, something he never thought he'd be on the receiving end of. 

It's on theme for the night as a whole, really.

**-Futaba Sakura-**

**19/03/2017**

**5:46 a.m.**

> **Futaba:** thats some top tier trolling 
> 
> **Futaba:** respect ಠᴗಠ
> 
> **Futaba:** but jsyk
> 
> **Futaba:** if u hurt Ren
> 
> **Futaba:** again
> 
> **Futaba:** i have a butt tonne of cringey stuff on u that i can leak 
> 
> **Futaba:** srsly tho
> 
> **Futaba:** ...
> 
> **Futaba:** welcome back [¬º-°]¬

He isn't surprised that she apparently already knows about his return, not really, and he can't even find it in himself to be mad at her for trying to threaten him either. Mostly because he could not give one _single_ shit about his reputation at this point anyway, but also because he knows that the threats are born from concern rather than from any kind of malice. 

Goro doesn't think he could ever be so accommodating if their roles were reversed.

> **Goro:** Understood.
> 
> **Goro:** And thank you, Sakura.

And if Futaba Sakura can muster up the nerve to message him, then he should be able to stop being so spineless and read a simple fucking text. Although, he _does_ still have to take a second to steel himself before backing out to the main screen of his messaging app and finally opening the text from Ren.

**-Ren Amamiya-**

**13/12/2016**

**10:24 p.m.**

> **Ren:** I still have your glove.
> 
> **Ren:** Don't forget about our promise.
> 
> **18/12/2016**
> 
> **9:16 p.m.**
> 
> **Ren:** We changed his heart.
> 
> Ren: He confessed, live on TV.
> 
> **Ren:** I hope you saw it.
> 
> **19/12/2016**
> 
> **11:36 p.m.**
> 
> **Ren:** You're hiding out somewhere, right? 
> 
> **Ren:** It should be safe to come back now.
> 
> **24/12/2016**
> 
> **8:03 p.m.**
> 
> **Ren:** So... I'm gonna turn myself in. Makoto's sister says they need my testimony to help put Shido away.
> 
> **Ren:** I'll probably be in juvenile detention for a while, but it'll be worth it.
> 
> **Ren:** Probably.
> 
> **13/02/2017**
> 
> **2:00 p.m.**
> 
> **Ren:** Well, they let me out.
> 
> **Ren:** It's weird. I've got two sets of memories from Christmas Eve until now.
> 
> **Ren:** Nobody knows what happened to you, it's driving me crazy.
> 
> **Ren:** I just hope you're happy and safe.
> 
> **14/02/2017**
> 
> **11:57 p.m.**
> 
> **Ren:** I'm a dumbass, I should have told you how I felt.
> 
> **Ren:** Happy Valentine’s Day, Akechi.
> 
> **03/03/2017**
> 
> **1:28 a.m.**
> 
> **Ren:** I miss you.
> 
> **Ren:** You'd probably hate that, right?
> 
> **17/03/2017**
> 
> **10:38 p.m.**
> 
> **Ren:** I'm going home in a few days.
> 
> **Ren:** Just letting you know, on the off chance that you come looking for me…
> 
> **Ren:** Sorry, I know that this is probably just "brainless sentimentality" to you. Haha.

Goro's grip on his phone tightens, and he blinks, hard, to clear away the annoyingly persistent tears that are obscuring his vision. Reading that had hurt, there's no point in denying it, but what's worse is the fact that Ren is apparently going home. 

In a matter of days. 

And he hadn't said anything.

Granted, there hadn't been much of an opportunity for Ren to bring it up, but it's the kind of information that definitely ranks higher in Goro's priorities than being told that _he should be fucking happy_.

He looks down at Ren and is seriously considering shaking him awake, when a dizzying wave of vertigo suddenly hits him like a fucking truck.

Light-headedness washes over him, and it’s abnormal and unnatural in a way that he can't even begin to _try_ to comprehend, because his consciousness feels like it’s circling a drain – it's as if reality itself has become slippery and blurry around the edges. He teeters drunkenly to the right, and he has to use the last of his strength and control to push himself forward so that he ends up in a slumped sitting position, folded in half over his own legs, rather than landing directly on Ren's head.

He wonders, in a detached sort of way, if he's having a stroke, or an aneurysm, or something else equally unavoidable and mundane, because now his eyes feel like they're literally being _pulled_ closed. He fights it, but it's like there's a disconnect between his eyelids and his brain – they slide shut, by themselves and entirely against his will.

There's a disorienting shift underneath and around him, and his stomach flip-flops unpleasantly, like it would if he had just gone over a particularly steep part of the track on a roller-coaster. And the metaphor holds true, unfortunately, because then he's free-falling for several, terrifying seconds (fully convinced that this is it, that after everything else, this is the entirely _stupid_ fucking way that he dies), before the world jerks to a stop. 

He can almost _swear_ that he feels his brain keep going, moving with the inertia until it smacks into the front of his skull.

Then his ears pop, the weird pulling-pressure is suddenly gone and everything starts to feel more _solid_ again. Sensation begins to creep back into his limbs, and with it, comes basic awareness – he's not in the bed anymore, he knows that much at least. 

He's also sitting up, and when he flexes his fingers he can feel gloves on his hands.

What the hell?

His eyes finally do as they’re _fucking_ told and open, he blinks and squints against the harsh light – déjà vu prickles through him unpleasantly.

Well, _shit_.

He's sitting in his usual spot on a very familiar couch, on a very familiar stage, under very bright and, unfortunately, also very familiar lights. It's an impressively convincing imitation of the TV studio in Akasaka Mitsuke, lovingly recreated and perfectly rendered down to the smallest detail. 

All except for the colour.

Because it's all fucking _blue_.

"My apologies, I had to use more force than is usually necessary to summon you here." 

The soft and annoyingly polite voice comes from somewhere to his left, and Goro whips around to see that _goddamned_ bellboy – Theodore, his name is Theodore – sitting, all prim and proper, in the host's seat. 

"You can't be _fucking serious_!" Goro snarls, and he probably would have been up out of his seat and swinging if he wasn't still so disoriented. "Why the _hell_ am I back here?!"

Theodore, for his part, blinks owlishly at him for only a second before composing himself and speaking. "I understand that you must be frustrated and probably more than a little, ah, _discombobulated_ , but rest assured, I just wish to speak with you, for a moment, on my Master’s behalf."

"And what does _he_ want with me?"

"My Master has reason to believe that fate will present you with an opportunity, in the near future, and that as a Wild Card, you might benefit from signing a contract-" Theodore makes a sweeping gesture across the low table between them and a clipboard and pen appear there, from nothing, like a parlour trick. "-and becoming an official Guest of the Velvet Room."

The anger that was vibrating through Goro has faded to something closer to a low hum, it's just background noise now – he knows an opportunity when he’s being presented with one. 

"Does that mean that I would have the same power as Ren?"

"It means-" Theodore starts, hands clasped demurely in his lap, "-that you would have the potential, yes. Do not forget that Wild Cards are only ever as strong as the bonds that they forge."

Goro makes an annoyed sound through his teeth, there's no way he'll ever be as proficient as Ren is when it comes to making and maintaining connections with other people, but power is power, and he won't let this chance pass him by.

It should be safe enough, he reasons – Ren obviously trusts the beings in this strange pocket dimension, and there's also the _minor_ matter of how they'd already saved his life once before, and then spent months watching over his soul, like magical nursemaids – for some reason.

"I just need to sign a contract?"

Theodore nods, tilting his head to the side and smiling sweetly, and Goro freezes just as he's about to reach for the pen. He feels his eyes narrow in suspicion as he's struck again by the weird paranoid feeling he'd experienced the last time he spoke with this man, because it's a little like looking at himself in a funhouse mirror. There are no real physical similarities between the two of them, other than both being on the ‘pretty’ side of conventionally attractive, he supposes. But it's the mannerisms; the disarming smile and the slightly bumbling bashfulness, the formal speech that just manages to come down on the right side of awkward, and a gloved hand raised to the chin to complete the perfect picture of attentive contemplation – they're all unnervingly close to his own affectations.

Not that any of it had ever been _genuine_ when Goro was doing it, of course, and he knows that there's a (not insignificant) chance that he's just being self-absorbed – that this is Theodore's actual personality, if it can even be called that.

Still, it gives him pause... there's no harm in pushing for a little more information before he puts pen to paper.

"And why are _you_ here? Why not one of your sisters?"

_Why did they send me 'Detective Prince - Bellboy Edition'?_ He thinks but doesn't say, because that's _definitely_ coming from somewhere egocentric. 

"Oh?" Theodore looks taken aback and a little flustered, but not offended. "Yes, well, usually my Master _would_ produce a new attendant for a new guest, but that requires a substantial amount of power, and he is still recovering. As for why I have been chosen to be your attendant, rather than one of my sisters? It is because I am in the unique position, amongst my siblings, of not having an assigned guest. Technically."

" _Technically_?" Goro frowns, what does _that_ mean?

"Yes, technically." Theodore confirms but doesn't elaborate, and there's something sad in his expression when he says it, but it's gone so quickly that Goro isn't completely sure that it was actually there at all. Especially when it's replaced, inexplicably, with a coy expression and a blush that looks like it would be more at home on a schoolgirl, rather than whatever the fuck Theodore actually is. "It was also assumed that you would find my form more pleasing than that of my sisters."

Well, isn’t that _presumptuous_?

Truthfully, he's rapidly starting to think he was being _too generous_ , entertaining the idea that there was some kind of nefarious plot to get under his skin by aping his Pleasant Boy façade.

"Don’t flatter yourself." Goro laughs, without any real humour. "You remind me _far_ too much of someone I hold in _extremely_ low regard."

"Ah, well, that's a pity." Theodore fidgets uncomfortably in his seat, and the awkwardness certainly _seems_ authentic. "It was only ever intended to be a starting point for the connection between an attendant and their guest; in much the same way that the appearance of my younger sister, Lavenza, was meant to provoke a protective, fraternal response in your companion."

It _does_ make sense for them to try to appeal to Ren's extreme (and borderline self-destructive) empathy and compassion – and truly? What could be a better way to get him to let his guard down, than to present him with something cute and seemingly harmless? It's exactly the tactic he'd employed when he first approached Ren himself, after all, hiding bloody teeth and claws under soft, sheep's fleece. And Lavenza as an attendant for Ren is certainly a better fit than them trying to foist Theodore off on him, as if his personality can be boiled down and reduced to the simple fact that he prefers the company of men.

Because really, if they were going to be smart about it, they should have sent Margaret instead and exploited his crippling parental-abandonment issues.

Amateurs.

"I don't think that trying to play the Honeypot is the best way to start any working relationship, Theodore-san." Goro offers, slightly indulgently, because he's beginning to think that Theodore and his ilk are actually just a bit _dim_ – or at least, not well versed in what exactly makes humans tick. "And it's particularly ineffective if you admit to it, unprompted, and three sentences into your sales pitch."

Theodore sits up straight (or straight _er_ ) and looks at him with such open and intense interest that Goro almost expects him to pull out a pad and start taking notes. Suddenly, he seems a lot less like someone trying to be the Detective Prince, and a whole lot more like a parallel universe version of Yusuke Kitagawa.

“I see! That is incredibly helpful! I do not know the term ‘Honeypot’, but I think that I understand, from context…” He pauses, frowns and then abruptly stands, bending at the waist in a deep bow. “I wish to apologise, sincerely. We seem to have started off on the wrong foot, and I would very much like to wipe the slate clean and try again. If that is acceptable to you."

Goro was already on his feet and bowing back, before Theodore had even finished what he was saying, mostly out of reflex (rather than any genuine good will), and he has to wonder if being in this fake studio has flipped some etiquette switch in his brain.

Whatever, it's fine, he'll just roll with it. It's not like there's any real reason (beyond pettiness) to make this exchange needlessly antagonistic, after all.

"There's no need to apologise, Theodore-san. I'm equally at fault for any misunderstanding between us." he lies, the words come out easily, and through a polite, even smile. "I would be more than happy to start over, if that's what you want."

Goro brushes, absent-mindedly, at non-existent dust on his slacks before retaking his seat, and Theodore follows suit, sitting back down, calmly, but with a small and clearly expectant smile on his face. So, Goro reaches out and picks the metal pen up off the table, it feels expensively heavy and strangely familiar in his hand (he wouldn't be surprised if it was the same one, somehow, that he'd used to sign his emancipation papers in Shido's office, years ago), and the ink flows smoothly and pleasantly as he signs his name on the dotted line.

There's a dull thrum of energy in his chest, and he feels Hereward there, for the first time since all of this madness started. That's reassuring, at least, it certainly seems as if he's made the right decision.

"Wonderful!" Theodore exclaims, annoyingly chipper, as he makes a small clapping motion that causes the clipboard and the pen to disappear back into the ether. "And now, with that business taken care of, I actually have a small welcoming gift for you."

"You do?" Goro says, in a forced measured tone, keeping his face as neutral as possible. There's more? He'd honestly been hoping that he'd be able to leave now.

Theodore raises one gloved hand, and there are two blue cards held, delicately, between his index and middle finger.

"Normally, there would be a charge for summoning personas from the compendium, but that seems unfair, when you fused these two without having the process, or the consequences, explained to you beforehand."

"What-" Goro starts, but he stops when the cards suddenly dissolve into a small cloud of sparkling blue dust. 

A wave of warmth washes over him, and he feels Robin Hood and Loki slip back into place, nestled safely in his soul, right next to Hereward.

Oh, that feels _good_.

"Thank you, Theodore-san." Goro says, and he means it.

"Please, call me Theo," he replies, sounding very satisfied with himself. "And now, my Treasured Guest, I believe that it is time for you to return to your time of rest."

Goro's eyes start closing of their own accord again.

He doesn't fight it this time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! Thank you so much for all of your comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks!
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter are: mild horror/violence, vague descriptions of canon torture, not great parenting and explicit sexual content - don't worry, the sexual content is unrelated to the other warnings, ha.

Ren is one of those people who would have said, once upon a time, that he didn't really dream when he slept – or, at least, he never remembered any of them if he did. It always left him with the slightly niggling impression that he was missing out, or (more worryingly) that there was something actually wrong with him, and he was cut off from some deep and important part of himself. He thinks, in hindsight, that maybe it was part of why he'd spent the first sixteen years of his life feeling as if he was just... kind of... _existing,_ instead of actually living.

Floating aimlessly from task to task, and from day to day, just mindlessly ticking the boxes – for no real reason, other than the fact that it was what he felt like he was _supposed_ to be doing.

‘Keep your nose clean’ has always been his dad’s favourite phrase, usually yelled after him just as he’s leaving the house, or combined with an awkward shoulder-pat during a pep talk before starting a new school term, and it’s the only hard rule that his parents have ever really impressed upon him growing up. 

Nothing else mattered, as long as he stayed out of trouble.

So, that’s what he's always done. He worked hard, both in school and at his part-time job, he participated in clubs, he had a handful of acceptable friends and an acceptable girlfriend, and most importantly, he _never_ caused problems for his parents. 

He wasn't satisfied or fulfilled, but he wasn't _unhappy_ either – it was comfortable. 

It was fine.

Everything was _always_ _fine_.

And, when the questions came (more and more with each passing year), about what he wanted to do when he graduated – he'd just trot out some stock answer about getting a nice, reliable civil service job like his dad, or maybe, he’d _really_ mix it up and say that he was thinking about following his mom into education instead. Just like his grandfather and his father before him.

Which, you know, he had absolutely zero interest in doing either of those things, but he also hadn't really wanted to do anything _else_... so, why not?

He'd, most likely, have continued down that path, just sleepwalking through life. Gone to college and studied something he wasn't interested in, got a boring job, married someone that he liked (but probably didn't quite love), and so on – until he died, having lived a life that wasn’t _bad_ , by any stretch of the imagination, but just kind of _okay_.

But then he'd turned a corner, on that fateful evening (less than a week after his sixteenth birthday), and saw this bald _asshole_ trying to force himself on a woman.

And something in him had just _snapped_.

He'd never known that he could _be_ so angry, never known what rage truly felt like – until he'd been dragged over the coals for daring to step in and trying to help someone else. It spoke to how sheltered his small-town upbringing had been, really, to get to sixteen years old before ever having experienced _real_ injustice. It was a painful lesson, and a frustrating one too, but it was also exhilarating, in a way, as if someone was sparking a flint inside of him and kindling the rebellious fire in his soul that would, later, manifest as his persona.

It was like his life up until that point had been the dream, because everything afterwards had seemed a little sharper, a little louder and so much more _real_. Just like Tokyo itself – terrifying, thrilling, and completely overwhelming.

And with Tokyo came the metaverse, Arsene, and the Phantom Thieves. He wonders, sometimes, if Yaldabaoth had actually reached into his mind and flipped some magic switch, because he'd abruptly gone from only having the faintest impression of his dreams to them being extremely vivid and often lucid – even the simple ones about spending time with his friends became bright, and warm, and stuck with him for days afterwards.

And now, it's this newfound awareness that lets him feel how he's sliding sideways through his subconscious, out of the pleasant dream he was having (about sleeping on the fluffy chest of a giant Morgana), and into a different and familiar one. It’s a dream that he’s had many times, and it’s not a nice one, by any means, but it’s also never really quite qualified as a full-on nightmare either. 

No, his _proper_ nightmares tend to focus on one, very specific, room that's hidden away in the basement of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters. 

_The grind of wrist bones against metal cuffs. The slide of a cold needle under his skin. A black boot pressing down on the side of his head._

_Wheezing and tasting blood on the exhale, wondering if he’s punctured a lung on his own broken ribs._

_His thoughts slow, and dark, and dim. Knowing that there’s something important that he’s supposed to remember, that he_ has _to remember, and that something very bad is going to happen if he doesn’t._

 _Messing it up anyway and saying the wrong thing, or forgetting the_ right _thing, hearing the door open and then the click of a gun’s safety._

_The unyielding press of a metal barrel to his forehead._

Those thoughts slip away, like grains of sand through his fingers, as the not-nightmare starts to coalesce around him. Wind whips around his face, ruffling his hair and filling his nose with the salty smell of the sea. He opens his eyes and has to squint against the sun, he can see Mount Fuji on the horizon and the summit is almost blindingly white against the blue sky.

It should feel like home (because that's where he is, after all), but it's all janky and _wrong_ , and every one of his senses feels raw around the edges and uncomfortably overloaded.

His boots crunch too loudly on the gravel driveway of his home, little plumes of grit and dust puff up around his feet, and each step is like sandpaper on his eardrums. 

The plants in his mom’s flower beds are too bright and so vibrant it’s almost synthetic, they sort of remind him of the time Yusuke messed up the saturation setting on his crappy little CRT TV – trying, and failing, to make the colours in the art documentary they were watching 'pop'. 

Even the birdsong that cuts through the morning air is grating rather than sweet, jarring and slightly off-key. 

Crunch, crunch, crunch, go his feet.

Closer and closer, towards the powder blue door, with the brass door knocker – an ugly, old thing his parents had bought on their honeymoon, it's supposed to look like it's made up of tastefully twisted vines but, to Ren, it has always seemed more like an angry (and kind of _hungry_ ) face. The sun bounces off its curves, casting unpleasant shadows and making it glint menacingly, in a way that reminds him of just how much it used to scare him when he was little, when he'd been convinced that it would bite his fingers off if he touched it. 

His dream-self stops at the door and takes a second to readjust the bag that’s slung over his shoulder, like always, but it's about nine pounds too light – and he knows that Mona isn't in there. He knows that he's alone.

Tweet, tweet, tweet, sing the birds.

He reaches out to open the door, even though he already knows that the handle won't turn, that it’s locked, despite the fact that _nobody_ locks their doors in the little corner of Kanbara that his family calls home. That would be too much like pointing your finger at your neighbour, after all, and when everyone knows everyone else, what is there to worry about?

But the door is still locked in his dream, it’s _always_ locked in his dream, and the only reason for that is to keep _him_ out, specifically. Because-

_-he’s an embarrassment, he’s a burden, he was meant to mind his own business and stay out of trouble, like the good boy he was supposed to be._

_"Should have kept your nose clean, kiddo."_

And it’s on that happy note that this dream usually ends. Not tonight though, apparently, because he's still standing in front of the door while the tone-deaf birds continue to sing away in the background. 

Weird. 

But, honestly, he's sort of morbidly curious about what his brain is going to throw at him now. 

Right up until his hand starts moving by itself again, up and away from the door handle, and it abruptly becomes very obvious that he's _not_ going to enjoy what's coming next.

Oh.

 _Oh crap_.

The dread is real, and heavy, and _suffocating_ , as he watches his hand reach out for the door knocker – in all of the versions of this dream that he’s had, not one of them has _ever_ involved him touching that creepy thing. 

Ren holds his breath (as much as is possible in a dream, anyway) as his fingers slip through and around the metal loop. 

Nothing happens. 

His fingers might close around it without incident, but he still can't quite find it in himself to relax. How can he? When it feels unpleasantly warm and suspiciously slimy, and he can almost swear that it _pulses_ when he tightens his grip.

Yeah, no thanks.

He'd like to get off this ride now.

Unfortunately, that's not really his decision to make, and his hand lifts the brass ring without any input from him, knocking once, then twice – each one sounding more like a gunshot, painfully and unrealistically loud in the suddenly quiet air. 

The birds have stopped singing.

Well, that's ominous. 

Ren braces himself for everything to go sideways – and, _oh boy_ , does it ever. 

Because he can't take his hand back.

He's stuck fast.

It feels like someone has piped ice water into his veins as it becomes clear that not only has the brass loop _shrunk_ around his fingers, it’s also getting _tighter_ with each passing second, constricting around his digits like a snake trying to suffocate its prey.

_Oh, no, no, no, no!_

And if Ren actually had any consistent control over his body here, he would be struggling for all he's worth right now, he'd give anything to be able to plant both feet on either side of the door frame and try to get enough leverage to yank himself free. He'd also probably be hollering his head off, but the 'logic' of this dream dictates that all he's allowed to do is watch. Trapped behind his own eyes as this version of him just stands there, dumbly, while his hand gets crushed.

One of his knuckles gives under the pressure with a sickening pop, and he gets as close to a scream as someone can without actually being able to open their mouth. He tries, desperately, to remind himself that this _is_ just a dream, and that no matter how real it feels, he's still going to wake up with all of his fingers intact and accounted for.

Still hurts like a bitch, though, there's no rationalising that away.

There's a second pop and another eye watering spike of pain to go along with it, but strangely, his lack of agency in the situation is kind of... not quite calming him down, no – but it's taking the edge off, at least.

He feels numb, and a little like he might slip into that grey place that had been his only refuge when Shido's goons had been whaling on him in the interrogation room back in November.

Can you even dissociate in a dream?

Resigned to his role of chew toy/unwilling bystander, he waits for the inevitable sound of crunching bone… but it never comes. Maybe his lack of fear is making things too boring for whatever part of his subconscious is trying to torture him, because his surroundings lurch around him instead, like someone hit the emergency stop button on the escalator he never asked to be on, and he can tell that the dream is shifting into something else.

The relief he feels is sweet and immediate, despite the overwhelming disorientation that comes with it. 

Ren blinks, the pain in his hand is gone and he's inside the house, in the living room, specifically, and everything is very tall – or he's very small. The decor is on the fuzzy side of familiar, half remembered, because it hasn't looked like this since he was five or six years old.

He _really_ needs to take a leak, all of a sudden, and he can't tell if that's part of the dream or if he actually needs to use the bathroom in reality. But hey, he’ll take an uncomfortably full bladder over broken fingers any day.

His feet are bare now, and he scrunches his toes against the slightly rough pile of the antique rug he's standing on. He doesn't need to look down to know that it's covered in delicately woven, pink nadeshiko flowers – it had been his mom's pride and joy, after all, left to her by his grandparents in their will. It's not in their living room anymore, he knows that it was rolled up and put away into storage years ago. 

Just like he knows exactly where this dream is going.

And while it’s definitely better than dealing with carnivorous door accessories, it's still not great.

And right on time, he starts to feel the sweaty, prickly burn of a fever over his skin, how it sticks his hair to his forehead and his Jack Frost PJ's to his small and skinny five year old body. 

He knows that he's not supposed to be out of bed, but he opens his mouth to call for his mom anyway, because he feels- 

_-so bad, his head hurts, his tummy feels yucky, he needs the potty, he wants his mommy…_

A big wet patch blooms on the rug, like a mockery of the flowers that decorate it, and his pyjama pants are soaked through as well, because he's gone and wet himself, even though- 

_-he's five and a half now and he's supposed to be a big boy._

There's a strangled gasp from the living room doorway, and Ren's dream-self sways unsteadily on his small feet when he turns towards the sound.

"Look at what you _did_!" his mom cries, her face is bright red and she looks _so mad._ She's never hit him (neither of his parents have ever raised a hand to him, not really), but he's still terrified when she crosses the room and grabs his forearm roughly, nearly pulling him off his feet _._

His dad curses under his breath from behind her, rubbing at the spot between his eyebrows with the side of his thumb – it's a nervous tic that Ren recognises as something his father does when he's trying to stay calm. Ren's never sure how much of this is the dream and how much is genuine memory, but it's like his dad can't even _look_ at him – as if a little boy, with the flu, having an accident is the most offensive thing in the world. 

"This is _unacceptable_ , Ren. You're too old for this."

Ren _should_ be angry, but the only thing he feels is shame, and it curdles unpleasantly in his stomach.

Then he's crying, he's crying _so much_ , and he's trying to say that he's sorry, that he can clean up the mess (he's _five_ and doesn't have the first clue about how to do that, but he can still remember wanting to – wanting to do anything to make them stop looking at him like _that_ ), but he can't get the words out because his breath is stuck and he feels like his brain is on fire.

Everything goes black.

That's where the dream ends, probably because that's also where his memory ends – five year old Ren had fainted dead away, like a puppet with its strings cut, right there on the ruined rug.

Although, he _can_ still remember a little of what happened afterwards. How he'd woken up, clean, dry and tucked into his bed, being watched over by the local doctor and his two worried, loving parents.

And it was easy, as time went on, and the memory became more and more fuzzy, for him to kid himself that he'd only imagined them ever being anything else.

That was, until they'd had to come pick him up at the police station, just over ten years later, and he'd seen exactly the same look of disgusted disappointment and anger on their faces. He was sixteen then, and he _knew_ that he was in the right, but their expressions had still made him feel like he was five years old all over again, small and ashamed.

He doesn't think that they're _bad_ parents, not by a long shot, and especially in comparison to the parents/guardians that some of his friends have had to grow up with. He loves them, and he's sure that they love him too, despite the cold shoulder that they've been giving him ever since his arrest. 

Ren does wonder though, sometimes, if it can really be called love at all if it dries up the second that things become difficult.

His sleep is mostly dreamless after that, thankfully, and he just floats in the warm darkness of his subconscious while all of his solid thoughts bleed away, taking the anger and the guilt with them. He stays like that for what could be seconds or hours, but the hazy quality of his consciousness eventually starts to fade away and awareness creeps in slowly instead.

The first thing he registers, as he comes to, is that he's _way_ too warm, and then that he’s really sweaty and a little sticky… 

Why is he _sticky?_

His throat also feels weird and kind of sore.

He tries to move and quickly realises that he’s stuck under something heavy – Morgana seriously needs to cut back on the fatty tuna, because, _holy cow_ , he feels like there's a literal tonne of bricks piled on top of his midsection.

Still half asleep, he reaches out to pet Mona (and hopefully convince him to move and stop crushing his organs while he’s at it), but he just ends up feeling like some of the wires in his brain get crossed, because while his fingers _do_ end up buried in soft hair, it's not _anything_ like the short and plush cat fur he was expecting.

Huh?

He spends a couple of confused seconds, groggily petting at the long silky strands, and getting his fingers a little tangled in them in the process, before his wrist is caught in a punishingly tight grip.

It's almost a morning tradition for Ren: being lightly mauled when he wakes Morgana up, so the pain being visited upon his poor, innocent wrist isn't a huge shock. No, the _surprise_ is that he's not being assaulted by claws (or little needle teeth), but by a strong and distinctly human hand – a hand that skillfully bends his joint at an odd angle, until he has no choice but to withdraw his abused limb to cradle it against his chest.

Ouch.

Why does the universe suddenly seem to have such a hard-on for hurting his hands?

"And _what_ exactly do you think you're doing?" Goro Akechi's voice is rough with sleep but still sharp as a blade, and it cuts through his remaining brain fog with the same efficiency. 

Ren's eyes snap open.

His stomach and his heart try to switch places.

Everything that happened last night comes back to him in a rush (Goro is here! He's alive! They kissed! And more – _a whole lot more!_ _Holy shit!_ ), and any leftover crappiness he was feeling from his depressing dreams is smothered by the horde of butterflies that are suddenly fluttering in his stomach. 

He props himself up on one elbow, so that he can get a better look at the strangely _perpendicular_ position that Goro has, somehow, managed to get himself into during the night – he's lying on his side, facing the head of the bed, with one foot on the floor and his upper body draped across Ren's stomach.

Which explains why he woke up feeling like he was being crushed to death, at least. 

Their eyes meet and Ren feels like his insides go all soft and gooey.

Goro is watching him with obvious wariness – he looks like he slept _terribly_ , his face is pale, and there are heavy bags under his (still slightly red and puffy) eyes. 

He's also probably the most beautiful thing that Ren has ever seen.

Yeah, he's definitely got it bad.

What's the appropriate amount of time to wait after someone comes back from the dead (or after they try to kill you) before you tell them that you think you might be in love with them?

"Hi." Ren says instead, doing a little wiggly finger-wave and smiling a smile that he knows probably makes him look like a total goofball. 

Which tracks, because he absolutely feels like one.

"Good morning, Ren." Goro sounds guarded and a little unsure, but there's fondness in his voice too, and he smiles back – it's slightly lopsided and heart-stoppingly cute, not at all like the perfectly symmetrical and manufactured Detective Prince smiles. It makes Ren's stomach do a somersault.

Goro opens and closes his mouth like he wants to say something, but seems to give up and settle for peering at Ren with _way_ more scrutiny than he's prepared for when he's only been awake for about five minutes.

"Uh, is something wrong?"

"I had a visit from – or perhaps, it would be more correct to say that _I_ was _forced_ to visit – one of your friends from the Velvet Room last night."

Ren sits up as straight as he can without dislodging the boy who's essentially in his lap.

"Why? What did they want?"

"It was the one called Theodore – you remember him, yes?" Goro pauses, eyebrows raised expectantly, and only continues when Ren nods. "He offered me power in exchange for signing a contract, and then he gave Robin Hood and Loki back to me… he mentioned something called a 'compendium'? Apparently he'll be filling the role of attendant for me, like Lavenza does for you… Not that I can really say that I understand what _any_ of that means."

Ren's heart is beating a mile a minute, and his thoughts are moving just as fast, while he does his best to explain everything he knows about the Velvet Room and fusing personas. Goro looks understandably shocked when he gets to the part about the electric chair and guillotines.

"It makes sense now." Goro says, when Ren finishes, and he sounds a little wistful. "How you always seemed to have _far_ more personas available to you than I ever saw you negotiate with... To think that you were able to literally fuse them to make more – no wonder I could never anticipate you."

"Well, now you can do it too." Ren smiles, he feels very warm and kind of tingly. 

"Not quite – with the Nav gone, there's no way to actually access the metaverse currently. I assume that I will have to wait for the 'opportunity' that Theodore mentioned before I'll be able to test out my new abilities..." 

Goro trails off and looks up at Ren with that sharp consideration again.

"Have I got something on my face, or are you just enjoying the view?" Ren teases.

Goro scowls, but he also blushes a little, so Ren counts it as a win. "A specific word keeps coming to mind when I look at you now, and I don't know why."

"Dashing? Handsome? _Majestic_?"

"Fool."

"Wow." Ren deadpans. "You really know how to sweet-talk a guy."

"I'm not _actually_ calling you a fool," Goro sounds (and looks) _extremely_ unimpressed, "you absolute dolt."

And maybe Goro is onto something because it took way longer than it probably should have for him to connect the dots.

"Do you remember what I said about how all the different personas can be divided into arcanas?" Ren asks and Goro nods, making a twirly motion with his hand that obviously means 'get on with it' – so Ren does. "Ever since my first visit to the Velvet Room, all of my important relationships have had an arcana associated with them too. My first persona, Arsene, is the Fool arcana – so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I am too… Morgana is the Magician, Ryuji is the Chariot-" Ren lists the rest of the Thieves and their arcanas, counting them out on his fingers as he does.

"And me?" 

"The Justice."

Goro inhales sharply and his eyes go wide, his face twists and seems to cycle through several different expressions before he settles on something indulgently condescending.

"I suppose that I _would_ have come across that way when we first met, hmm?" Goro's voice is like honey, Ren thinks that he might be in danger of drowning in it. "Such a pity that it was all a farce."

"You're wrong." 

Goro flinches, lip hitching up into a sneer, and Ren has to take a breath so that he can put his thoughts into some kind of order before he tries to speak again. 

"I've never known _anyone_ who was as committed to their own ideal of justice as you are, Goro. You gave _literally_ everything you had to get your revenge on Shido, and the way you fought for your freedom from Maruki-sensei's reality – even though you thought it meant that you were going to die doing it… _None_ of that was a farce."

Goro stares up at him, eyebrows drawn together and mouth set in a grim line as his eyes rove over Ren's face, like he's looking for some kind of tell – any kind of indicator that Ren doesn't believe what he's saying.

"You really _are_ a fool." Goro whispers eventually, with a small sigh, apparently mollified.

"Maybe." Ren replies, and leans down to kiss him.

The angle is awkward, and Ren has to twist and nearly fold double over himself just to line their mouths up, but it's worth it for the way that Goro melts against his lips.

He smooths the hair away from Goro's face, runs his thumbs across his cheekbones and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead just before he pulls back – he looks down into warm, brown eyes, and thinks again of love.

And drowning.

There are some other feelings creeping in alongside the more romantic ones though, because he _is_ only human, and Goro is very _distracting_ , and since Ren almost always wakes up with at least a semi anyway – it really doesn't take much at all for his dick to decide to take the jump to full hardness. 

It's certainly not helped by the fact that he's just now noticing how Goro's t-shirt is rucked up a little, exposing the lower half of his stomach and the pretty trail of hair there. Ren's eyes follow it like a magnet, down from his belly button to where it disappears tantalisingly under the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants – the soft material of which is doing absolutely _nothing_ to conceal the fact that Goro has also had a visit from the Morning Wood Fairy... or maybe he's just _very_ happy to be here.

Ren slams on the mental brakes as best he can, because he does feel like they probably should sit down and have a conversation (about relationship stuff, the whole 'going home' thing, and what exactly Goro is going to do with himself now that he's not dead) before he gets too caught up in that particular train of thought.

But he ends up getting distracted all over again, for entirely different reasons, when Goro moves to sit up. He winces in a way that makes it clear that his back is sore and stiff, which is understandable, given the awkward position he was lying in. 

That's not the thing that grabbed Ren's attention though, no – it's the fact that he can now see just how much Goro looks like he's been _dragged backwards through a hedge_. His normally perfectly tousled hair is in complete disarray, the back of it is standing up and out at odd angles, and it manages to be even more messy than the time that Ren 'disguised' him to avoid his fans at that café in Kichijoji.

It's equal parts adorable and hilarious, and Ren throws a longing glance in the direction of his phone, but he knows that there's not much point in taking pictures that he probably wouldn't survive to see.

Goro must notice him looking, because he makes a sour face and reaches up to pat self-consciously at the back of his head.

"Make yourself useful and find me a brush or a comb, would you?" and he still manages to sound haughty and superior, despite his obvious embarrassment and extreme fluffiness. He looks Ren up and down and levels a pointed glare at the general area above his forehead. "Assuming, of course, that you actually _own_ one?"

Wow. _Rude_.

"I'll have you know-" Ren mimics Goro's prissy tone as he scoots backwards up the bed (trying to ignore the way it makes his neglected boner bounce distractingly as he goes), and reaches out to blindly fish for his comb in the depths of his shelving unit. "-that I make sure to comb my hair on _at least_ a bimonthly basis."

His hand closes around the comb, and he pulls it free with a little flourish (spinning it, like he would a dagger) that makes Goro roll his eyes.

Ren hands it over and watches with amusement as Goro's expression changes from withering to horrified. It's not surprising really, since the comb is bright orange and has a grinning Pyro Jack on the handle – it was one of the many pieces of 'loot' he'd ended up with after his most recent trip to Akihabara with Futaba. It's also already missing about a quarter of its teeth, which is just an occupational hazard when you've got hair as thick and unruly as Ren does.

" _Why_ are you like this?" Goro asks, despairingly, as he holds the comb between his thumb and forefinger.

"It's part of my boyish charm."

"Hmm, if you say so," it's said with a derisive little snort as Goro relents and starts running the comb through his hair, diligently (and kind of aggressively) brushing the fluff into submission. Ren can't help but notice, again, the way that Goro grimaces when he has to extend his arm to get a good angle – his weird sleeping position must have _really_ done a number on him.

"You know-" Ren says when Goro is finished, and he sets the comb aside, onto the windowsill. "I give pretty decent massages – might help with all that _stiffness_ you've got going on."

He hadn't really _meant_ to sneak a double entendre in there, but these things are bound to happen when there's still a not-insubstantial amount of blood in his dick rather than in his brain. All thoughts about how they're supposed to talk about things before getting handsy again seem to have conveniently slipped his mind.

Goro covers his mouth with the back of his hand and makes a sound that's somewhere between a cough and a laugh. 

"How _subtle_ of you."

"Seriously, it'll help." Ren hops up, maybe a little too eagerly, off the bed to make room. "Come on. Shirt off, and lie face down on the bed."

Goro eyes linger, blatantly, on the tent in the front of Ren's pants for a handful of seconds before he shrugs and pulls his t-shirt over his head – taking it off in one of those one-armed, from the bottom manoeuvres that is somewhat spoiled by another pained wince, before he lies down, flat on his stomach and with his arms folded under his chin.

"Good boy." Ren coos, and laughs when Goro moves just enough to lift one hand and give him the finger. He doesn't miss the way that Goro's one visible ear has suddenly gone very pink though, and he files that information away for later.

Despite being on the receiving end of massages here semi-regularly, Ren hasn't got any massage oils or anything like that, because that would probably just make the back rubs that he gets from Kawakami-sensei even _more_ weird and awkward than they already are. He figures that the big bottle of lotion that he has beside his bed will work well enough though, and he warms three generous pumps of it between his palms, before clambering back up onto the bed and straddling Goro's lower back.

And it is a _very_ nice back, covered in smooth, unblemished skin and toned in all the right places. Ren knows, from experience, that all the hard physical work they do in the metaverse does not translate into any real world gains – most likely for the same reason that the injuries they get there don't persist in reality either. He has a vague recollection of a conversation in the back of the Mona-bus between Goro and Haru about bouldering, and he supposes, that it's the kind of hobby that goes a long way towards explaining the muscle definition that might seem otherwise out of place on a busy honour student. Even if Ren can't figure out how he manages to fit it into his schedule alongside his work with the SIU, running a blog about eating his own weight in sweets, TV spots, metaverse runs, and dying twice.

No wonder his shoulders are so stiff.

Ren spends a few seconds just smoothing the lotion over the planes of Goro's back in firm, broad strokes, and he can't quite stop the snicker that comes up when even something that simple makes the other boy nearly turn into a puddle beneath him. 

Goro tenses up when Ren laughs, and is probably about to respond with something shitty (or maybe, even gearing up to push him off and getting up altogether), but Ren digs his thumb into a knot under his shoulder blade, easing it out with probably a little more force than is _strictly_ necessary – and Goro deflates again, compete with a low and satisfied hiss of air between his teeth.

"Good?" Ren teases, the laughter is still clear in his voice, but all he gets is a slightly dazed groan in return.

He's not sure how long they stay like that – it's very easy to become absorbed in his task, focussing intently on kneading away the tension in the boy beneath him like he's an overgrown cat, until Goro is nearly fused to the mattress.

And he could be forgiven for thinking that Goro has actually fallen back asleep, with how deep and even his breathing has gone – but when Ren leans down to brush the soft hair aside and kiss the nape of his neck, Goro twists under him to lean back and bring their lips together. Ren parts his with a sigh as Goro slides his tongue into his mouth, it makes him feel like there are sparks under his skin, and he's back to full hardness so quickly he's almost dizzy with it.

The same easy chemistry that lets them fight so well together in the metaverse comes into play when Ren raises himself up slightly and Goro takes the cue to turn over onto his back, bringing his hands to Ren's hips and pulling him back down to grind against him, all in one smooth movement and barely even breaking the kiss.

The first kiss that they shared last night had been sharp, all pent-up aggression and desperation, with lots of teeth – but it's different this time, softer, but no less hungry for it. There's a hand in his hair, manicured nails scratch pleasantly against his scalp, and the slow, deep slide of Goro's tongue against his is making him feel like he's on fire.

Goro pulls back a little, chuckling breathlessly and pressing a hand to Ren's chest to keep him in place when he tries to chase after him. It's a great laugh, Ren thinks he could listen to it forever.

"I'm going to assume that Sakura-san is downstairs?"

"Huh?" Ren manages, very eloquently, and Goro laughs at him again.

"Oh, I was just wondering about how well sound travels between this attic and the café." Goro brings a hand to his chin, framing it coquettishly with his thumb and forefinger, and when he speaks again it comes out sweet and unassuming, "for example, _hypothetically speaking_ , how likely do you think it is – that we might be overheard if I were to fuck you right into this pathetic excuse for a bed?"

" _Holy shit._ " Ren groans, dropping his forehead down to bump against Goro's, as his cock throbs almost painfully in his pants.

Ren has never put any real thought into the idea of having a dick in his ass before now, it's always been the other way around in his fantasies (especially the ones about Goro, because, come on, his ass is _insane_ ), but now that it's out there – he's surprised by just how hot it makes him.

As for how well sound carries down into the café… if Sojiro had needed to find a calling card to figure out that they were the Phantom Thieves when Ryuji had literally been yelling about it up here, for _months_ , then they should probably be okay as long as they at least _try_ to be quiet.

And it's not like Sojiro ever really comes up here anyway, not without hollering first.

Is he maybe thinking more with his dick than he should be? 

Probably.

Is he too horny to care? 

Oh, _most definitely_.

There _is_ one potential problem though.

"I don't have any lube, other than that-" he tilts his chin towards the bottle of lotion on the shelf beside them. "-and I, uh, don't know if it will do the job."

Sure, it works great for jerking off… but he's _very_ out of his depth here. He doesn't even want to think about trying to do it with just spit either. Or dry… Yeah, no thank you.

"Ah, well, if memory serves-" Goro starts, pushing at Ren until he can wriggle out from under him. "-I think we may be in luck."

Ren flops down onto the bed and watches, totally confused, as the other boy reaches into the shelving unit and pulls his school blazer off the top of his neatly folded pile of clothes. 

"Do you seriously just carry _lube_ around with you?"

Goro makes an annoyed tutting sound with his tongue that shows just how little he thinks of _that_ particular question. 

"No, _of course not_! What do you take me for? However, I _was_ at the TV studio just before I entered the metaverse for the last time in December-" the fact that it was to kill him and the other Thieves goes unmentioned, which is good, because that would be _kind of_ a mood-killer, "-and one of the women in Makeup gave me this when I mentioned that my lips were dry."

He pulls a purple, palm-sized pot of _something_ out of his blazer pocket. Ren isn't quite convinced, although he _does_ like that it has a smiley, round, brown mascot on the lid.

"It's coconut oil." Goro explains (oh, the mascot is supposed to be a _coconut_ – that's cute), and he must notice Ren's slightly sceptical look because he feels the need to add: "It's food-grade and perfectly safe, I assure you."

Ren is going to say something about how it's _his_ ass that's going to be feeling it if it isn't 'perfectly safe', but then Goro sets the pot aside (well within reach of the bed), and starts getting the rest of the way undressed, and Ren _very_ quickly becomes _very_ distracted.

Goro steps out of the sweatpants quickly and with no real fanfare, but he makes a show out of removing his underwear, hooking his thumbs in the waistband and pulling the fabric down in an _agonisingly_ slow drag – revealing the defined 'v' of muscle that outlines his hips and a glimpse of hair the same colour as the cinnamon stored in the jars downstairs.

Ren watches with wide eyes as Goro's dick strains against the elastic waistband of his briefs for a couple of suspenseful seconds before it springs free to bounce back against his toned stomach, it's flushed and thick and ridiculously perfect – just like the rest of him, and Ren's mouth waters just looking at the pre-come he can see glistening at the tip.

They haven't actually measured or anything… but, Ren figures that it's probably going to happen at some point – because Goro is hyper-competitive about _everything_ , and it _would_ be kind of funny for their rivalry to result in a literal dick-measuring contest. Anyway, Ren can still tell that they're _around_ the same size, but the thing is, there's something about knowing that it's supposed to, somehow, fit _inside_ of him that makes Goro's dick look intimidatingly _massive_. 

Ren is almost vibrating with that weird mixture of anxiety and anticipation that he usually only feels when his back is to the wall in the metaverse, adrenaline coursing through his veins and heart beat thundering in his ears.

"Clothes off." Goro does that thing with his voice where it drops an octave, no Pleasant Boy left in his tone at all, and Ren's dick twitches in appreciation. " _Now_."

He's sitting up and pulling his sweatshirt and pants off so fast that it would probably be funny under other circumstances. He realises, as he balls up his clothes and throws them aside, that Goro is staring at him with his mouth slightly open, mesmerised, cocky act forgotten for the moment – and it occurs to Ren that Goro didn't actually _see_ his dick last night, despite giving him the best handjob of his life.

Maybe Goro has forgotten that he's not the only one who likes to put on a show.

Ren can feel the smirk creep across his face as he slides his hand, slowly down his stomach to loosely grip his erection, before running his fingers from base to tip, feather-light and just enough to make him shiver. Goro's eyes follow every movement of his hand, and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows audibly.

"What's the matter, _Go-ro_? Cat got your tongue?"

Goro's eyes jerk back up to his, looking like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar for a second, before he composes himself and his expression goes back to something smugly confident. He crosses the space between them, climbing back onto the bed and pushing roughly at Ren's chest again (it would be annoying if he wasn't also kind of into it), until he's flat on his back and Goro is kneeling between his thighs.

He's looking down at Ren now with something unreadable in his eyes, the morning light that streams in through the window brings out the red in his irises and makes any flyaway hairs around the crown of his head glow like a halo – he's almost painfully beautiful as he reaches out to place a warm hand on Ren's chest, right over his pounding heart.

"Promise me that you won't be a self-sacrificing moron about this, Ren."

Oh.

Ren was not prepared for Goro to be so openly concerned for his well-being, it's _really_ cute, and that maybe-love feeling wells up inside him again – of course he deals with it by saying the first stupid thing that pops into his head.

"The only sword I plan on falling on, Goro – is yours."

The corner of Goro's mouth twitches involuntarily, and he makes a small, amused noise in the back of his throat, before leaning down to press a kiss to Ren's collar bone.

"I don't think that phrase is actually appropriate in this context, but I'll give you points for the wordplay, I suppose."

"So _generous_ \- Ah!" Ren is finding it a little hard to concentrate on being sassy, because Goro is kissing his way down his chest, only taking a detour to bite lightly at his nipple.

He keeps going, down his stomach, along his hipbone and maddeningly close to his achingly hard dick – sliding down until he's propped up on his elbows between Ren's legs. Goro kisses the inside of his right thigh as he hitches it up over his shoulder, Ren suddenly feels very exposed and his pulse kicks into overdrive as he hears the sound of the metal lid of the little pot being unscrewed – he hadn't even noticed that Goro had picked it up again.

He closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down a little, as the pleasantly sweet smell of coconuts floods the air, along with the soft, wet sound of Goro warming the oil in his hands. 

Ren braces himself for the intrusion.

Well-oiled fingers close into a fist around his dick instead, pumping up and down in a deliciously slick slide that shocks a broken sound out of him, some embarrassing hybrid of a yelp and a moan.

It's a very effective distraction, honestly, and leaves his thoughts almost as slippery as the hand expertly jerking him off – he hardly tenses at all when he feels one of the fingers from Goro's other hand sliding lower, even when it dips in between his cheeks and circles the sensitive ring of muscle there before pressing in gently.

And _oh_ , that feels… _weird_. 

Not _bad_ , and (if he doesn't think about it too closely) maybe even kind of good, although Ren thinks that that probably has more to do with how Goro is pulling so nicely on his dick than anything else.

Ren pushes himself up onto his elbows to get a better view, flushing immediately in embarrassed arousal when he sees the way that Goro is watching his finger sink into his body with open and hungry fascination.

Their eyes meet and Goro holds his gaze as he leans the short distance forward to run his tongue in a broad flat stroke up the length of his dick, Ren groans and his hips twitch upwards reflexively – smearing the head of his dick across one of Goro's perfect cheekbones and leaving a shiny wet trail of pre-come and oil there.

 _Goddamn_ , that's hot.

Watching him from under hooded eyelids, Goro sinks his mouth down over him, and it's so _sinfully good_ that Ren collapses back down onto the bed with a groan. He's so caught up in the feel of that hot, wet mouth around him that he almost doesn't register a second finger joining the one already in his ass.

There's a bit of a stretch now, a burn, even more so when Goro spreads and scissors his fingers, and maybe it says something about Ren – that it kind of feels better to him now that there's an edge of pain to go along with the invasive feeling.

It's almost overwhelming, caught between two points of extreme sensation as he rolls his hips to thrust up into Goro's mouth and gets skewered on his fingers on the way down.

He reaches out and sinks his hands into Goro's hair without thinking, his orgasm is fast approaching, pleasure twisting in his gut and making the muscles in his stomach and his legs tremble. 

"Goro- I'm gonna-!"

And Goro does _something_ with his fingers at the same time that he sucks _hard_ , and Ren could almost swear that he actually blacks out for a second when he comes – with only just enough awareness to get a hand over his mouth to smother the cry that's wrenched from his throat.

"Wow… that was… _wow_ " Ren says, breathlessly when he finds his voice again.

Goro chuckles, and his voice is dark and rough from sucking dick – the sound of it does funny things to Ren's insides.

Goro slips his fingers free (and for some reason, not having something in his ass is the thing that feels weird now), and moves back up the bed – leaning down to press a wet and open-mouthed kiss against his lips. They make out like that for a while, sloppy and lazy, full of the strange (but not unpleasant) taste of come and coconuts.

"Are you ready?" Goro whispers against his mouth, pressing the hard line of his dick insistently into Ren's hip bone.

Ren feels heavy, relaxed and completely boneless in the afterglow of such an insanely good orgasm – and even though there is still trepidation bubbling somewhere in his stomach, he knows that he wants it. He wants Goro inside of him.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's do this."

Goro searches his expression for a second, probably until he's satisfied that Ren isn't bullshitting him, before he lets out a shaky exhale and pushes himself up. He needs to rock back on his heels to retrieve the little pot, and Ren watches, rapt, as he melts the oil in his hand carefully, and then slicks himself with three fast pumps of his fist that makes his eyelids flutter prettily.

Ren lifts a slightly shaky leg to hook it over the other boy's shoulder and give him a better angle – Goro lines himself up, rubbing the head of his dick over Ren's hole before he starts to slowly press inside.

And it's the strangest thing Ren has probably _ever_ felt, but there's something undeniably hot about being bent almost in half as inch after inch of cock slides into him, until Goro's hips are flush against his ass, and he's looming over him – colour high in his cheeks, breath coming out in harsh pants while his hair hangs down around his face, attractively dishevelled.

"Ren…" Goro's voice cracks a little as he says it.

They're both shaking and Ren brings his hands up to cup Goro's face, and it's like a current passes between them as he stares up into those brown eyes. Ren feels so incredibly _full_ , and it still feels really weird, but it's also satisfying... like they're _blurring_... or like he's being consumed from the inside out.

"You can move," Ren says, softly and between small tender kisses peppered along Goro's jawline.

Goro doesn't need to be told twice, he bites his lip as he pulls out slowly, almost completely, before sinking back in and- _oh_! Ren feels a strangely pleasurable jolt as Goro's dick drags against the spot that he'd found with his fingers earlier.

Yeah, okay. He can _definitely_ get on board with that.

And his dick apparently agrees, because he can feel that he's half-hard again already and only getting harder with each roll of the other boy's hips.

Goro is a beautiful wreck above him, handsome face feverishly pink and sweaty, pupils blown wide and bottom lip white between his teeth in an obvious attempt to keep quiet. Ren grabs him by the back of his neck, twisting his fingers in the long hair there, and pulls him down into a rough and slightly desperate kiss, swallowing Goro's grunts and moans as the slide of the tongue in his mouth echoes the thrust into his body.

It's not long before Goro's movements start becoming tellingly erratic, and he gets a hand between them to grasp Ren's dick in a still-slick fist, pumping him quickly and sloppily in time with his thrusts. Ren breaks their kiss as his back arches at the sensation, he's still oversensitive and it's nearly _too much_ , he almost can't believe it when he starts to feel his second orgasm building so soon after the first.

"Goro... Ah..." Ren pants, as quietly as he can, into the half inch of space between them, words coming out between shaky gasps, "You feel so good… _I'm gonna come…!_ "

Goro growls, deep in his chest and starts jerking him faster until Ren sees stars, spilling over Goro's fist and all over himself. He can _feel_ his ass clenching around the cock pumping in and out of him, and it's probably the hottest thing that he's ever experienced – he realises, dimly that he's babbling in a hoarse whisper.

"Come inside me… _please, Goro… fill me up…_ "

Goro's hips snap forward, burying himself deep as he comes, eyes rolling back into his head as he groans and shakes with the force of it.

They share another kiss as the aftershocks shudder through them, but as they come down it becomes increasingly obvious that they’re not in a sustainable or comfortable position, and they separate slowly and gingerly – Ren winces at the weird empty feeling as Goro slips out of him and the trickle of come that follows.

Ren reaches out and grabs the box of tissues on the shelf without looking, pulling out a fistful and offering them to Goro, who sits up and takes them with a quiet ‘thank you’ to wipe his hands. Ren cleans up the mess that’s on his stomach as best he can with the tissues and dabs at the inside of his thigh when he feels another dribble of come there.

There’s something fragile in the air, Goro is hiding behind the curtain of his hair as he makes a show of inspecting his nails, and Ren acts mostly on instinct when he pulls the other boy closer to him, coaxing him back into lying down and catching his chin like he did last night to force eye contact.

His expression is uncharacteristically open and vulnerable, and while his eyes _are_ misty – he’s not crying this time, which has to be a step in the right direction.

“That was amazing, Goro. _You_ were amazing.” Ren whispers, emphatically, and the other boy flushes predictably at the praise.

“Ren, I…” Goro starts and stops, snapping his mouth shut against the wobble in his voice, and his soft expression twists into a scowl.

“Hey,” Ren soothes, pulling him in close so that he can tuck the other boy’s head under his chin. “It’s okay.”

Goro sighs deeply in frustration, “I _hate_ feeling _weak_ like this – _hate_ that I’m reduced to a pathetic blubbering mess by something so _fucking simple_!"

"It's okay." Ren repeats, because he doesn't know what else to say. He brings a hand up to run his fingers through Goro's hair, and the tension seems to drain out of him with each stroke, which is something at least.

Is Goro just one of those people who cry after sex? Or is there something else going on? Ren doesn't think that it's the kind of question that you can just come out and ask.

They lay together like that for a while, slotted together like puzzle pieces, it's very warm and dangerously comfortable, and Ren feels himself drift in and out of sleep more than once before his stomach decides to announce, very loudly, that it's empty and not at all happy about it.

Goro snorts a sleepy laugh into his collar bone, and he sounds more like his normal self when he speaks. 

"Hungry?"

"Ugh, sorry," Ren reaches out to grab his phone off the windowsill, awkwardly trying to unplug it one-handed, "I just realised that I don't even know what time it is."

He lifts his phone up into the air above his face (the lockscreen helpfully informs him that it's 10:47, which isn't actually that bad, all things considered), Goro turns – obviously trying to get a look at his screen. Which, honestly, is kind of rude, but Ren quickly realises exactly what it is that the other boy is trying to see when he notices the flood of notifications in their old group chat.

"What did you do?" Ren laughs.

"I think that Futaba Sakura referred to it as ' _top tier trolling_ '" Goro replies, sounding very pleased with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sex scene at the end just kind of happened without me meaning it to... I was feeling nostalgic about the stupid way that teenagers will often let all sense fly out the window when there's an opportunity to bone, no matter who might walk in on them (or, at least, that was my teenage experience, ha). I was tempted to have Sojiro catch them, but in the end, I couldn't do that to poor Coffee-Dad. Morgana and Futaba have already suffered enough without putting it on someone else too!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much, everyone, for your lovely reviews, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks!
> 
> I've been feeling really down, and they always put a smile on my face.
> 
> Content warning for mentions of a canon suicide.

Goro is ready for it this time.

He's prepared for the sorrow that rushes in, like water into the lungs of the drowning, to fill the vacuum left by the last few pleasant twinges of his orgasm. His ribcage feels several sizes too small, and there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him as he and Ren pull apart to clean up. The distance between them, as he dutifully wipes the oil off his hands, feels like a yawning chasm that he can't cross – as if they're only tethered together by something frayed and tenuous.

It's nearly unbearable.

But he's got it under control.

Mostly.

The Phantom Thieves would probably be surprised at best, and call him a liar at worst, if he told them that he has always considered himself to be very good at regulating his emotions, or, at the very least, he's able to contain them until he can find somewhere sufficiently private to blow off some steam. Their opinions would, obviously, be coloured by witnessing his, not insubstantial, breakdown in Shido's palace – one of the single lowest moments in his entire life, surpassed only (unsurprisingly), by the day when he had come home from school to find his mother, still tucked into her futon, cold, lifeless, and with the empty pill bottle still clutched in her hand.

And really, who wouldn't react… _poorly,_ to finding out that the last true obstacle standing between you and your imminent revenge – the boy who you'd yet to realise you were hopelessly in love with, had, somehow, survived you shooting him in the head? And that was before being soundly trounced by said boy and his band of merry thieves, when you tried your best to rectify that little discrepancy.

So, yes, he hadn’t exactly been in top form, mentally speaking, in the engine room – but under more normal circumstances (not that any of this could be called _remotely normal_ ), he’s usually more than capable of keeping his unsavoury emotions in check. He’d never have been able to get so close to Shido and his gaggle of sycophants if he wasn’t a grade A bullshitter, after all.

He might be feeling as if he’s being crushed from the inside out – but the important thing, is that he's keeping it mostly inside this time, and he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of it too, that is – until Ren reaches out to him again, as if it's nothing, pulling him close and whispering sweet affirmations in his ear. 

Goro is almost overwhelmed by a wave of... _something_ , some nauseating mixture of affection and anguish, and he opens his mouth to speak without thinking.

“Ren, I…” and the rest of the words die on his tongue when he hears how small and pitifully weak his voice sounds.

He’s not even entirely sure _what_ it was that he was going to say anyway, only that there seems to be an equal chance of it being one of several exceedingly stupid and mortifying options: like ‘ _thank you_ ’, or ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’, or worst of all, ‘ _I love you_ ’.

And, _of course_ , Ren’s apparent first impulse, when Goro is being pathetic – is to draw him even closer and try to reassure him, and he can’t quite tell if it’s just the thing he needs or the exact opposite.

His control is slipping, he can almost _feel_ it sliding through his grasp, and the only thing that saves his dignity is the fact that, tucked in against Ren’s collar bone, he at least has a modicum of privacy – if Ren feels the handful of tears that still manage to escape from the corners of his burning eyes, he doesn’t comment on it.

“I _hate_ feeling _weak_ like this-” Goro hisses, bitterly, “- _hate_ that I’m reduced to a pathetic blubbering mess by something so _fucking simple_!"

Ren strokes his hair, soothing him with more meaningless platitudes, and Goro feels himself relax, begrudgingly, until he drifts into the fuzzy place between true sleep and wakefulness.

The sound of Ren's heartbeat, and the steady rise and fall of his chest under Goro's cheek is almost hypnotic, like the ebb and flow of the tide, eroding away the sharp edges of his nerves until he feels pleasantly numb.

They stay there for... he’s not sure how long, but it’s enough that, when he’s jolted awake by the loud gurgle of Ren’s stomach, his mood has, genuinely, picked back up – and the amusement in his voice is sincere when he speaks.

“Hungry?”

Ren apologises and reaches for his phone, mumbling something about checking the time, and Goro wakes the rest of the way up as the screen comes into view. There are _a lot_ of notifications.

"What did you do?" Ren laughs.

"I think that Futaba Sakura referred to it as ' _top tier trolling_ '."

Goro shifts against Ren's side, pulling the blanket up over them a little more, and turning just enough, so he can comfortably watch Ren unlock his phone and open the group chat from November.

And, even though his spirits have been (somewhat) lifted, he still manages, somehow, to feel _slighted_ when he sees that he's still registered as 'Akechi' in Ren's phone – which he _knows_ is irrational and downright _moronic_ , because it's not as if Ren has had an opportunity to change it in the short time since he started referring to him as 'Goro'.

Still, seeing his surname listed alongside the given names of the others makes him tighten his grip, where his arm is draped across Ren's midsection – in what Ren probably assumes is affection, but is almost entirely coming from a place of petty, possessive jealousy.

> **-Casino Heist 🃏 Jokers are Wild-**
> 
> **19/03/2017**
> 
> **5:43 a.m.**
> 
> **Akechi:** Thank you.
> 
> **6:32 a.m.**
> 
> **Ryuji:** dude
> 
> **Ryuji:** dude!!!
> 
> **Ryuji:** is our chat freakin haunted
> 
> **Futaba:** oh noes! 
> 
> ＼(º □ º l|l)/
> 
> **Makoto:** I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions just yet, Ryuji.
> 
> **Makoto:** I’m sure that it’s just some kind of network issue. The text could have been sent from Akechi-kun’s phone in December, but it’s only being delivered now? 
> 
> **Makoto:** Futaba?
> 
> **Futaba:** nope it was def sent this morning 

“She’s such a little turd,” Ren laughs, making a stupid snorting noise that has _no business_ being as cute as it is, and Goro smiles despite himself.

> **Ryuji:** what the eff man
> 
> **Makoto:** Well, that is slightly concerning.
> 
> **Makoto:** Akechi-kun? If you’re still there, could you please explain what’s happening? Are you lying low somewhere?
> 
> **Ryuji:** yeah
> 
> **Ryuji:** that makes sense
> 
> **Ryuji:** hes prolly just hiding out
> 
> **Ryuji:** not a ghost
> 
> **Ryuji:** or whatever
> 
> **Yusuke:** I actually saw Akechi’s message when it first came through.
> 
> **Yusuke:** I was painting the sunset at the time, despite the fact that I would usually consider it far too pedestrian of a subject to commit to canvas.
> 
> **Yusuke:** However, I had the most vivid dream last night! It was Akechi, bathed in the exquisite, ethereal, crimson glow of Tokyo's dawn! The image was so arresting and commanding that I'm afraid that I forgot to eat breakfast in my rush to bring it to life, and I ended up feeling quite light-headed as a direct consequence. Truthfully, in my addled state, I believed that the text was my subconscious playing a trick on me by making it seem as if my muse was trying to contact me directly.
> 
> **Futaba:** holy wall of text Inari
> 
> **Yusuke:** It shall be titled "Drowning in Flames", and should be completed within the week. I look forward to sharing it with all of you.

"What _on earth_ does that mean?" Goro asks, slightly distressed.

"Oh, that's just Yusuke," Ren seems unconcerned, so much so that he doesn't even look away from the phone, "one time, I showed him a picture of a pile of fluffy kittens, and he was inspired to paint something called _'The Staircase of Despair'_."

"Is that so…?" Goro murmurs, as if he understands.

> **Ryuji:** bro
> 
> **Ryuji:** that sounds intense af
> 
> **Ryuji:** but its weird
> 
> **Ryuji:** i had a dream bout Akechi last nite too
> 
> **Ryuji:** kinda
> 
> **Ryuji:** I guess it was bout all of us really
> 
> **Ryuji:** fightin in mementos
> 
> **Makoto:** Now that you mention it, I think I did as well?
> 
> **Makoto:** Although it’s still hazy… I dreamt that we were all gathered together in Leblanc.
> 
> **Makoto:** I'm almost positive that Akechi-kun was there too.

Goro frowns, because this is becoming... _strange,_ and only getting stranger by the second, quickly veering in a direction that is the exact _opposite_ of what he had been hoping for when he sent his reply to the chat – the Phantom Thieves were the only ones that were supposed to be unsettled here.

“Okay, what the hell?” Ren huffs a little disbelieving laugh, pulling Goro back out of his thoughts. “I didn’t have a dream about you last night, unless you count the Velvet Room – but I _had_ been thinking about you just before I fell asleep…”

He trails off as he looks back to the chat log, obviously distracted by what he sees there, and when Goro follows his gaze, he feels an eerie and uncomfortable prickle dance its way up his spine.

> **Futaba:** uh
> 
> **Futaba:** i wasnt asleep but i was thinking about Akechi last night too
> 
> **Futaba:** like his stupid face hijacked my brain when I was trying to think about other stuff
> 
> **Ann:** you guys 😴
> 
> **Ann:** my phone nearly vibrated off my night stand
> 
> **Ann:** give me a sec to read back over everything
> 
> **Futaba:** Mona says he had an Akechi dream too
> 
> **Futaba:** hes bein weird tho
> 
> **Futaba:** wont tell me what it was about…
> 
> **Ann:** Akechi is alive?!!!
> 
> **Ann:** is Ren awake?
> 
> **Ann:** has he seen this?
> 
> **Futaba:** i was gonna keep the joke going 
> 
> **Futaba:** but this is getting too freaky deaky 
> 
> Σ(°△°|||)︴
> 
> **Futaba:** Akechi respawned in Leblanc last night
> 
> **Futaba:** Mona says that Ren said it had something to do with the velvet room
> 
> **Futaba:** so Ren knows that hes back
> 
> **Futaba:** obvi
> 
> **Futaba:** Mona also says that theres no way that Ren is awake this early w/o him bein there to wake him up
> 
> **Ann:** That’s true! 😂
> 
> **Ann:** it's so crazy that Akechi is actually back!
> 
> **Ann:** I'm super happy for Ren! ✨
> 
> **Ann:** and, I totally had an Akechi dream too!
> 
> **Ann:** we were eating crêpes in Kichijoji
> 
> **Ann:** maybe I should invite him to go get some now that he's back?
> 
> **Futaba:** Ann even dreams about sweets 
> 
> (´ ω `♡)
> 
> **Ann:** Yep! 💖
> 
> **Yusuke:** I may need to incorporate the theme of resurrection into my latest piece. 
> 
> **Yusuke:** Yes! I can see it now! Crow wings painted cinnabar by the sun! Evocative of the phoenix rising from the ashes!
> 
> **Ann:** he's off again 😅
> 
> **Ryuji:** wait
> 
> **Ryuji:** Futaba r u ok?
> 
> **Ryuji:** nd what about Haru?
> 
> **Ryuji:** is she gonna be ok if she sees this
> 
> **Makoto:** I was just thinking the same thing, Ryuji.
> 
> **Futaba:** meh im fine
> 
> **Futaba:** or i will be
> 
> **Futaba:** but when it comes to Haru im way ahead of you 
> 
> **Futaba:** i made it so she cant open anything on her phone until she reads the message i sent her first
> 
> **Futaba:** a heads up
> 
> **Futaba:** didnt want her to see a text from Akechi with no warning

The arm that Ren has around him tightens a little, and while Goro does appreciate the show of solidarity, he can't exactly blame Haru Okumura for potentially needing some time to adjust to the idea that her father's killer is back. 

Again.

Honestly, it's almost a relief – he's still having a hard time understanding why Futaba Sakura has been so blasé about the whole thing.

> **Yusuke:** That was surprisingly considerate of you, Futaba.
> 
> **Futaba:** shut it Inari! 
> 
> ( ￣ω￣)ノﾞ⌒☆ﾐ(o _ _)o
> 
> **Yusuke:** I'm afraid that I don't know what that sequence of symbols is supposed to represent…
> 
> **Futaba:** ୧((#Φ益Φ#))୨
> 
> **Yusuke:** That is, marginally, clearer.
> 
> **Makoto:** Thank you, Futaba.
> 
> **Makoto:** For thinking of Haru's feelings.
> 
> **Makoto:** Also, I may have an idea about what happened, re the Akechi situation.
> 
> **Ryuji:** thats our queen!
> 
> **Ryuji:** hella smart!
> 
> **Futaba:** (눈_눈)
> 
> **Ryuji:** what the hells that sposed to mean?
> 
> **Futaba:** nothing! 
> 
> ε=ε=ε=ε=┌(;￣▽￣)┘
> 
> **Makoto:** Yes, well. Setting that aside.
> 
> **Makoto:** Morgana said that Akechi-kun's return was related to the Velvet Room.
> 
> **Makoto:** And Ren has mentioned before that he sometimes goes there while he's sleeping.
> 
> **Makoto:** So, it might be safe to say that it has some connection to people's dreams, as well as to the metaverse.
> 
> **Makoto:** Perhaps he was brought back using a form of actualisation?
> 
> **Ann:** I don't really understand... but if Makoto said it then it probably makes sense? 🤔
> 
> **Futaba:** she means that Lavenza
> 
> **Futaba:** or whoever
> 
> **Futaba:** used our dreams or thoughts as like a cognitive battery
> 
> **Futaba:** like how we got that buff in the yaldy fight when all the npcs started believing in us again

Niijima's hypothesis is sound, Goro will give her that, but _Sakura…_

Goro has to assume that 'yaldy' is referring to Yaldabaoth, and he knows that 'buff' is some nonsense video game term – he's heard her use it, many times, to describe empowering moves in the metaverse, like Sukukaja or Heat Riser.

He can't make sense of that last part though.

"When _who_ started believing in you again?"

"She's talking about what happened at the end of our fight with Yaldabaoth; we were winning, but it turns out that gods are kind of sore losers, I guess, so it tried to erase us _again_ – but everyone in Tokyo rallied behind us and brought us back." Ren says, with a small shrug that jostles Goro's head uncomfortably. "It also let me summon this _huge_ persona – like _Skytree huge_ , it was pretty cool."

"Hang on," Goro twists, just enough, in Ren's grip to glare up at him, "it never occurred to you, in your _infinite wisdom_ , to use this _'huge persona'_ when we were – oh, I don't know, actually fighting for our _lives_ and _freedom_ against Maruki and _Adam Kadmon_?"

Ren laughs and holds his hands up in a way that's obviously intended to come across as appeasing, but just results in him nearly dropping his phone instead – he saves it, at the last second, and celebrates, like the flashy asshole that he is, by _spinning it on his fucking finger_.

Goro's eyes nearly roll out of his skull.

"C'mon, don't look at me like that! I _can_ still summon Satanael, but he's not _anywhere_ near that big now – I guess it was just a one time thing...?" Ren shrugs again, Goro grits his teeth and (somehow) resists the urge to headbutt him. "It had something to do with the power of the public's belief in us, like in a cheesy anime… so, like, maybe Igor did something similar, on a smaller scale, for you?"

Goro mulls over the idea for a second, and he has to admit that there is a certain logic to it – if his bond with Ren was the thing that sustained and protected him, in the limbo that was the Velvet Room, then it follows that there would be power in his other… _relationships_ , no matter how paltry they may be.

Ren pulls him in close again, back under his chin, and Goro goes without too much of a fight – still thinking about the specifics behind his return, and the involvement of the others in it. 

"You good to keep reading?" Ren whispers, fondly, into the crown of his head, and he feels Ren nose through his hair to place a soft kiss in his parting.

Goro sighs and hums an affirmative, wondering if he'll ever feel worthy of such freely given affection, before he looks back to the screen.

> **Makoto:** Thank you, Futaba.
> 
> **Futaba:** np 
> 
> (￣^￣)ゞ
> 
> **Yusuke:** Ah, that does make sense.
> 
> **Ann:** I'm just gonna smile and nod 😅
> 
> **Ryuji:** i think i get it
> 
> **Ryuji:** kinda
> 
> **Ryuji:** but like
> 
> **Ryuji:** Akechi just appeared in leblanc right?
> 
> **Ryuji:** is Ren ok?
> 
> **Futaba:** ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_
> 
> **Ryuji:** huh?
> 
> **Futaba:** Ren is fine 
> 
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> **Makoto:** That's a relief.

"What exactly do they think I would have done to you?" Goro peers back up at Ren, incredulous. "And, actually, more importantly, why does Sakura know how _'fine'_ you are?"

Goro had assumed, when she reached out to him last night (or this morning, more accurately), that she knew he was in Leblanc simply because he'd turned his phone on, or potentially because that _stupid fucking cat_ had been unable to keep its big mouth shut. There is another possibility occurring to him now, however, and to say that he's not exactly happy about it would be an understatement.

"I mean, I get why they might be worried..." Ren says, thoughtfully, before he flutters his eyelashes and adopts a supremely ridiculous faux-innocent tone. “You _did_ steal into my room in the middle of the night, after all, and you just had your _wicked way_ with me.”

"Ren," Goro warns, he's caught somewhere between the desire to laugh at how ludicrous this all is, and the urge to smack Ren silly for the same reason, " _how_ does Sakura know?"

Ren makes a sound in the back of his throat, non-committal and evasive, and Goro slides his hand up the other boy's chest, ghosting over his ribs (he takes note of the way that Ren tenses as he does it, obviously ticklish), to pinch his nipple between his thumb and forefinger – the yelp that Ren lets out when he _really_ twists is _immensely gratifying_.

"Ow! Jeez, okay! Futaba has bugs set up downstairs-" Ren wheezes a laugh, "-which I completely forgot about until after we came up here last night, I swear."

"Ugh," Goro groans, his worst fears confirmed, as his mind replays all of the incredibly humiliating things that she most likely overheard. Maybe if he concentrates hard enough, the lumpy mattress will be merciful and swallow him whole.

If it does, he's taking Ren with him.

"Hey, it's not so bad," and Ren doesn't sound embarrassed, at all, the _bastard_ , "I'm pretty sure she hasn't got any… uh, surveillance equipment up here, at least. So, how about we just finish reading this, and then we can get some breakfast, okay?"

"Hmm, whatever." Goro mutters, he _is_ starting to feel hungry though (the smell of curry and coffee wafting up from the café downstairs is becoming hard to ignore), so he's maybe feeling a little more eager than he's letting on.

He just hopes that Sojiro Sakura will actually be willing to serve him, and not just chase him out into the street the second he lays eyes on him.

> **Ann:** Oh, Ren is fine? 👀
> 
> **Futaba:** Ann gets me
> 
> **Yusuke:** What is there to get?
> 
> **Ryuji:** yeah im lost
> 
> **Makoto:** I'm not sure that I understand what you're referring to either.
> 
> **Ann:** It's not for us to say 😅

Goro opens his mouth to sneer something about how a significant number of Ren's friends are _terminally_ oblivious, _anything_ to take the focus off his own mortification, but then he notices the next reply and his jaw snaps shut again.

> **Haru:** Good morning! 💕
> 
> **Haru:** Thank you, Futaba-chan, and everyone.
> 
> **Haru:** For worrying about me.
> 
> **Haru:** It was certainly a shock.
> 
> **Haru:** But maybe less of a shock than it would have been if this was the first time that Akechi-kun reappeared after we thought that he had died?
> 
> **Futaba:** thats fair
> 
> **Haru:** Of course, I'm still not sure how I feel about it.
> 
> **Haru:** But I am glad that Akechi-kun is alive, and I'm very happy for Ren-kun if he and Akechi-kun have finally "resolved their differences".
> 
> **Haru:** Especially since he's going home so soon.

Well, there it is.

The proverbial elephant in the room.

Ren goes very still underneath him, holding his breath and obviously pretending that he's still looking at the screen while he's actually trying to watch Goro out of the corner of his eye. Goro finds a strange kind of satisfaction in the awkward silence that falls over them, it's entirely of Ren's own making, after all, and Goro is not going to be the one to break it – he just waits patiently until Ren finally clears his throat and speaks.

"You don't seem surprised."

"Ren," Goro sighs, not even trying to keep the condescension out of his voice, "it's _hardly_ a secret when you told me yourself, via text, already."

Ren looks confused for a couple of beats, before things obviously click into place, and he suddenly seems to become _very_ interested in the ceiling – Goro is sure that if both of Ren's hands weren't currently occupied (holding a phone and Goro respectively), that he'd probably be playing, self-consciously, with his bangs. 

"Oh, right. Yeah... I sent you a bunch of stuff, huh?"

"Yes, you did," Goro replies, sweet and vindictive, "how very _embarrassing_ for you."

Ren barks a laugh, and Goro feels his expression slip into something more genuine.

"You're such a _dick_ ," and the way that Ren says it is sickeningly affectionate, as if he had just called him a cutesy pet name instead of insulting him, "how did we ever think that you were _nice_?"

Goro thinks about how nauseatingly trusting Ren and the other Thieves are – their faith in other people still undamaged despite everything they've been through, remaining blissfully naïve in a way that Goro _loathes_ but is, simultaneously, _immensely_ jealous of.

None of that feels appropriate to say though, so he takes a page out of Ren's book and just shrugs the comment off, focussing instead on the more important matter of Ren going home.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow," Ren says, with a grimace, "there's no school, what with it being Shunbun no Hi and all… so my folks figured it would be the best day for it."

It's so _soon_.

It's _too_ soon.

"I see…" Goro says, as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, needing, all of a sudden, to put even the smallest amount of distance between them. Ren doesn't protest as he shrugs his arm off his shoulder, but Goro feels the way his hand tightens on his bicep for a second before he lets go and it falls away.

Of course, it becomes immediately clear that trying to get some space on this criminally tiny bed isn't exactly realistic, when he ends up in a stupidly uncomfortable position – caught between Ren and the wall, with his legs drawn up to his chest, and his back pressed into the hard line of the windowsill.

Whatever.

It's still easier than trying to think about Ren going home while they're all _cuddled up_ together.

Ugh, _pathetic_.

"I'm going to come back whenever I have the chance, you know?" Ren is speaking very gently, and Goro has to take a deep breath and exhale slowly to stop himself from getting annoyed at being treated like he's some kind of easily spooked animal, "and I've already started looking into colleges here... for, uh... for after I graduate."

None of that is particularly reassuring though, is it? 

Considering the fact that Goro has only one plan for the immediate future, and it doesn't involve waiting around for Ren like a lovesick puppy – or waiting for this fateful 'opportunity' that Theodore mentioned. Goro has decided that he's going to be contacting Sae-san to turn himself in, regardless, and fate can figure out the fucking details itself if it really wants him for something. 

He's not sure how honest Shido has been about his involvement in the mental shutdown incidents, and the idea of going into hiding to try and find out, constantly looking over his shoulder, is… _unpalatable_ , to say the least.

And he'd be lying if he said that there isn't a certain cathartic appeal to the idea of coming clean about it all, in reality, instead of that strange not-interrogation he'd sat through in Maruki's distorted dream world.

He just would have liked to have had longer than a single day with Ren before he did it.

It's a thought that helps to put things in perspective, somewhat, and he realises just how much he really doesn't want to ruin what little time they have left by being a morose fucking idiot about it, so he decides to switch tactics.

"We can talk about the logistics, as much as you like, after we've gotten dressed and had something to eat, hmm?" 

"I guess so, yeah…" Ren is watching him closely, clearly suspicious, and Goro wonders if he's given himself away, somehow, or if Ren is just _that_ infuriatingly intuitive.

"Was there anything else important in there?" Goro asks, tipping his chin towards the phone in Ren's hand, both out of genuine curiosity and as a distraction.

Ren blinks and the intense glint disappears from his eyes, just like that, as he brings the phone back up to his face to start scrolling through the chat again quickly.

"Uh, they just say they're going to be coming here to meet up at half eleven… which, it's nearly five past now, so yeah – we should probably get up..." he says, trailing off as he continues reading, and then snorts a laugh.

"What's so amusing?"

"Oh, it's just Futaba making fun of Ryuji for being up so early."

"I was surprised too, but I don't see how it's funny?"

"Ryuji usually gets up at the crack of dawn, pretty much every day, to go running," Ren explains, "he usually sleeps in on Sundays, but he's been gearing up for a while to ask Makoto to go with him – and it looks like she wanted to do it this morning, which is why they were the first ones to see your reply, I guess."

"Ah," Goro smiles in a way that he hopes comes across as sincere, because he could not _possibly_ give any less of a shit about some Phantom Thief relationship drama, but he doesn't want to make that too obvious when he's literally _only just_ resolved to not spoil their morning, "good for them."

Although, it is nice to know that at least two of them will be keeping their greedy little eyes on one another instead of on Ren.

"It's okay, Goro," Ren says, sounding amused, "you don't have to pretend to care."

"Well, thank _fuck_ for that."

Ren makes a little surprised sound, and then he's laughing, shoulders shaking and eyes streaming – presumably with the effort of trying to do it quietly. Goro watches him, slightly baffled, and so genuinely surprised by the uncharacteristic outburst, that he doesn't even have time to be offended by the fact that it's almost certainly at his expense.

" _Wow_ , I don't think I'll _ever_ get used to you talking like that-" Ren pauses to gulp down a lungful of air, and wipe at the corners of his eyes, "-do you have to flip a coin in your head? Where heads is _'thank fuck'_ and tails is ' _thank goodness_ '?"

Ren says the last part in a softly high-pitched (and annoyingly good) impression of his Detective Prince voice, and Goro feels the bewildered smile on his face go sharp at the edges. He reaches back to brace his hands against the windowsill behind him, planting one foot firmly against Ren's thigh, and the other against his ribcage. Ren's eyes go wide with comprehension at the last second, and he tries to sit up, scrabbling at the sheets in a futile attempt to save himself just as Goro shoves him off the bed.

Ren goes over the edge gracelessly, bringing the blanket with him, and he hits the floor with a squawk and a satisfyingly loud thud.

He's still laughing.

Goro realises that he is too.

"Kid?" Sojiro Sakura's voice comes from the bottom of the stairs, he sounds mildly annoyed but also concerned, "you okay up there?"

Ren is up off the floor like a shot, scrambling to wrap himself up in the blanket as he hurries over to the edge of the stairwell. He's obviously worried that his guardian is going to come up to check on him, and Goro appreciates his quick reaction, given that _he_ doesn't have a blanket to preserve _his_ modesty – he's still unsure of how hospitable Sakura is going to be when he realises that Goro is in his café, but he doubts that finding him naked in the attic would be well received.

"I'm fine, Boss!" Ren calls out, leaning over the bannister, "be down in a few minutes!"

Goro gets up off the bed and stretches, flexing and testing the muscles across his back that had been stiff and uncomfortable when he woke up this morning – there's still a minor twinge here and there, when he rolls his shoulders, but Ren's massage really does seem to have worked wonders on them.

"How are we ever supposed to get dressed-" Ren says, sounding slightly breathless, as he crosses the room and gets right back into Goro's personal space, "-when you look like _that_?"

Goro smirks back at him, tugging at the blanket around Ren's waist until it falls away, and there's suddenly the very distracting slide of bare skin against bare skin – his cock twitches, hopefully, at the contact, it's a real pity that they don't have the time for a second round.

"Because-" Goro whispers, kissing Ren softly on the mouth, "-your annoying friends will be here soon, and, as hilarious as _I_ think it would be to see their reactions to finding their leader so thoroughly _debauched_ , I'm sure you don't want them to see you like this."

"Good point," Ren admits, with a small chuckle, lowering his hands to give Goro's hips a squeeze before he pulls away to pick the blanket up, bending over and presenting Goro with a _very nice_ view while he does it, "I'm gonna put this back, and, uh… my clothes are in that box over there, if you wanna grab some stuff for the both of us."

Goro hesitates for a second, thrown by the suggestion, but it _does_ make sense, to wear something of Ren's now, instead of his uniform – which might be the only set of his own clothing that he has left, depending on whether his apartment has been ransacked by Shido's goons or discovered by the authorities.

So he makes his way over to the other set of shelves, behind Ren's laughably old TV and close to the top of the stairs, and pulls at the large cardboard box that's wedged in there. The fact that this is where Ren has to store his clothes is slightly… _grim_ , but he decides to keep that observation to himself, for now.

Goro usually dresses in a way that is best described as 'business casual' (both out of personal preference and because it's always been an essential part of his 'brand'), but he can already tell, as he peers down into the box, that it's not a look that he's going to be able to achieve using Ren's clothes. For starters, the closest thing that Ren seems to have to dress pants are several pairs of slightly worn jeans. 

And while they're not ideal, he supposes that they're something he can live with. 

For the short term, at least.

They're certainly preferable to sweatpants, or a tracksuit, or the hideous Shujin-plaid of Ren's uniform pants.

He pulls out two of the better looking (not that that's saying much) pairs of jeans and sets them aside.

He comes across a black turtleneck that he can remember Ren wearing in January (despite the fact that this is, technically, the first time he's seeing it), and he decides to add it to the pile for Ren – both because it looks good on him, and because it will also help to cover up the string of purple bruises that Goro left on his neck and shoulder last night, especially since the collar of every other shirt in this box seems to be cut _very_ low.

Which is something that he's always appreciated about Ren's wardrobe, when said shirts were actually _on Ren_ , but it's definitely something that's a little outside of Goro's comfort zone. So he bypasses the sweatshirts and the t-shirts entirely, until he finds one of the white button-ups that he's seen Ren wear (open, and over a t-shirt), for himself – although, _he_ won't be wearing it unbuttoned, of course.

He gives it a quick once-over, and it becomes clear why he only ever remembers seeing Ren wear it with the sleeves rolled up, since one of the cuffs is missing its button – it also, genuinely, looks like it's never seen an iron in its life.

It will have to do, regardless, he supposes.

The button-up joins the turtleneck, and the jeans, in the pile, along with two sets of (hopefully) plain socks.

The next thing that he goes looking for, unsurprisingly, is underwear. Goro usually wears briefs and Ren apparently prefers boxers – that's not much of an issue, in and of itself, it's more the fact that every single pair seems to be completely covered with inane cartoons and slogans. He finds a blue pair that, at first glance, appear to only have a small Jack Frost on the front (just under the waistband and to the left), until he turns them in his hands and sees the phrase 'HEE-HO' printed in large characters across the backside.

What the fuck.

He feels his eye twitch, and he has to put considerable effort into unclenching his hands, where they've balled into fists in the material, so he can set them aside (for Ren to wear, of course), and resume his search. Finally, at the very bottom of the box, he finds a plain black pair, that thankfully, do not appear to have any crass messages or imagery hidden on the rear.

He takes the pile of clothes and heads back over to the other side of the room, where Ren is standing, seemingly unconcerned about his nudity, as he busies himself with _something_ on the shelf.

Goro may take a few seconds to let his eyes roam (who knows how many more times he'll have the opportunity to see Ren like this, after all), before his curiosity gets the better of him and he has to ask.

"What _are_ you doing?"

Ren actually jumps a little on the spot, and he steps to the side with a slightly sheepish smile on his face.

"I was just trying to find a good place for this…"

Goro looks past him, to the little swan boat replica on the shelf, and at the striped uniform tie that Ren has twisted into a chaotic knot around its neck.

"You don't know how to tie a tie?" Goro laughs, equal parts fond and derisive, as he pushes the bundle of clothes into Ren's hands, "let me do it, before you hurt yourself."

It takes a couple of tries for him to be able to undo the _absolute mess_ that Ren has managed to tangle the tie into, but once it's free, he loops it around the curved 's' of plastic a few times (so it won't be too loose) and finishes it with a simple half-Windsor knot.

"That _does_ look a million times better," Ren admits, beaming at him, as he leans in to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth, "thanks, Goro."

He hopes that Ren doesn't notice how embarrassingly flustered he gets over being thanked for doing something as simple as tying his own fucking tie.

They get dressed after that – Ren pausing, of course, to show off how, yes, he _can_ actually pull off the ridiculous 'HEE-HO' underwear. Ren obviously prefers a looser fit than Goro does, but they do wear, essentially, the same size, and he's reminded of that evening on the phone, last year, when he'd suggested (half-joking, half-flirting, all-manipulation) that Ren could probably get away with wearing his clothes.

It feels like a lifetime ago...

Goro is brought back to reality when Ren presses a still-in-the-packet toothbrush into his hand.

"I always keep a few spare," Ren explains, unprompted, as he picks up the little cup that holds his own toothbrush and toothpaste, "just in case someone sleeps over."

"Oh?" Goro asks, and he can hear the poison seeping into his tone already, even though he knows he's being petty and ridiculous, "do you have these kinds of _sleepovers_ with all of your friends?"

Ren just laughs at him, which is understandable, really, and then leans in to kiss him – which is less so.

"No, I've never done anything like this with my other friends," Ren says, bumping their foreheads together lightly, he still sounds amused but also _painfully_ sincere, "Goro, you're the first person I've slept with – and the only one I've done, like, ninety percent of the other stuff with as well, if that's what you're asking."

And it wasn't, not seriously, but it's still nice to know.

It's also a conversation that they probably should have had _before_ crossing the line in the first place, but, well, it wouldn't be the first time that Ren has clouded his judgement, would it?

"It's the same for me," Goro half-lies, deciding to leave it unsaid that Ren is the first person that he's ever done _anything_ with.

Because, while drawing with Ren in something is bearable, losing is not.

Ren smiles and kisses him once more, on the nose, before stepping back.

"Okay," Ren starts, pausing to slip his stupid fake glasses onto his face, and then rolling his neck like he's just about to start an infiltration, "I'm going to go down first and give Sojiro the heads up. I'll call you when you're good to come down."

"And what happens if Sakura-san is not 'good' with me being here?"

Ren actually looks shocked by the idea. 

"Sojiro isn't like that," he says, waving one hand dismissively, "he can be kind of a grouch, yeah, but he practically collects kids at this point."

Goro debates with himself about whether or not he should remind Ren of the fact that he caused Wakaba Isshiki's death, and how he remembers her file well enough to know that she and Sojiro Sakura were… he's not sure if they were _romantically_ involved, but he knows that they had been very close. The simple fact that Sakura had adopted Isshiki's daughter, as if she was his own, is testament enough to how important that relationship had been.

And Goro is the one who took that away from him.

"If you say so," is the absolute nonsense response that comes out of his mouth instead. 

He almost slaps himself.

"I do," Ren flashes one of his 'leader' smiles, and reaches out to squeeze Goro's shoulder, before he makes for the stairs.

Goro tries to smother the uneasy feeling in his gut as Ren disappears out of sight. He lurks near the top of the stairs, gnawing on his thumbnail in agitation (they would have looked really fucking stupid with this outfit, but he wishes that he'd put his gloves on anyway, they're the only thing that stops him biting his nails to the quick when he's stressed), as he strains his ears to try and catch any snippets of conversation from down in the café.

Sound really does not seem to travel well between the two floors, and even though Goro is actively _trying_ to eavesdrop, all he can hear is very faint mumbling – he can't even be sure if it's Ren's voice or Sakura's that he's hearing.

Or maybe it's just the TV.

It's reassuring, at least, to know that Sakura, in all likelihood, hadn't overheard any of their _activities_ this morning. It's bad enough, knowing that his daughter heard more than she ever should have the night before.

The seconds tick by, unbearably slow, but eventually, Ren calls for him from the bottom of the stairs. 

"You can come down now, Goro!"

And it certainly doesn't _sound_ like anything is amiss, so Goro shrugs, catches himself going to fix a tie that he isn't wearing, takes a deep breath, and goes.

It's a strange echo of last night, in a way, descending into the café and being completely unsure about what is going to happen once he gets down there. 

The anticipation isn't quite as dreadful as it had been then, but it's close.

At least Ren is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, and he's smiling, which is, presumably, a good sign.

The first thing that Goro notices, as he walks with Ren, past the bathroom door and into the café proper, is that Futaba Sakura and Morgana are both fast asleep in the middle booth – apparently undisturbed by the noise of Ren's ass hitting the floor (or the ceiling, from their perspective, Goro supposes) earlier. The cat is sprawled lazily across the back of the booth seat, and the girl is slumped over the table, using a folded up jacket as a makeshift pillow. There are two laptops on the table beside her, and the rest of the surface is absolutely _covered_ with a truly staggering amount of technological paraphernalia, Goro can't even begin to put names to half of it.

A low whistle cuts through the quiet to his left, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Hoo-boy... it _really is_ you," Sojiro Sakura emerges from the little kitchen nook behind the counter, wiping his hands with a dish rag that he then slings over his shoulder, he looks _resigned_ but doesn't seem to be angry _or_ upset – Goro is immediately wary, "and here I thought you kids had run out of ways to surprise me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some talk about clothes in this chapter, and the low-key stress I suffered from realising that Americans (and therefore the Japanese characters in an American-localised game) use completely different words than I do for so many different types of clothing... why can't we all mean the same thing when we say "shirt"? Anyway, I spent way too long trying to swap my Irish-English clothing terminology out for something more American - so, uh, hopefully it still makes sense? 
> 
> I'm always happy to use Irish-English spelling and date formatting, so I'm not sure why the clothes thing felt so wrong to me - but it did. Haha... fml.
> 
> Also, a disclaimer: I do not share Akechi's opinion that he has anything remotely resembling actual fashion sense. You know that he thinks that he looks fucking amazing, though.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate all of the comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks!
> 
> Each one is a lovely bright spot in what has been kind of a shitty time for me, both for personal reasons and because, y'know, _2020_.

Sojiro Sakura stands in the entryway of his home, stepping out of his slippers and into his loafers as he grabs his keys out of the dish on top of the little cabinet – he tries to do it as quietly as possible, because while Futaba may keep odd hours, she _is_ usually asleep when he leaves each morning to go open Leblanc.

But then, just as he places his hat on his head and is about to reach for the door, he hears a series of thumps from the floor above him, quickly followed by the sound of a door opening, and a stampede of many small feet rushing for the stairs.

Clearly he was sneaking around for no reason.

Morgana appears first, jumping gracefully out of the stairwell and into the hallway. Bright blue eyes meet his and the cat meows loudly at him – several times in quick succession, obviously trying to tell him something. It's very cute, so much so that Sojiro doesn't quite have the heart to point out, for the hundredth time since he learned that Morgana can talk, that he has no idea what he's saying.

It occurs to him, as Morgana scampers up the hallway towards him, that he could have _sworn_ that the cat had still been in Leblanc last night when he was closing up.

Strange.

"Sooooojiiiiroooo!" Futaba isn't far behind Morgana, and she comes down the stairs so fast that she skids on the wooden floor and almost into the far wall. "Wait! We're coming with you!"

She recovers from her near fall and jogs up to the edge of the entryway, stepping over Morgana on the way, as she struggles to adjust the heavy looking bag that she has slung over her shoulder. 

"Here," Sojiro sighs, reaching out to take it from her. "Give me that."

“Thanks, Sojiro!” she says, with a grin, pitching him a little salute as she hands it to him – it weighs _a damn tonne,_ and he comes very close to stumbling and dropping it.

" _Yeesh_ , Futaba," he huffs, as he hoists the bag up and over his own shoulder, trying to ignore the way his lower back creaks in protest, "what have you got in here? Bricks?"

"One of the laptops in there _is_ kinda old and crappy, but I wouldn't say that it's _bricked_ ," she laughs at her own joke as she hops down into the entryway, Sojiro knows better than to ask what she means. "Not yet anyway."

He watches her open the shoe cabinet and pull out a pair of tall black boots, they have thick, chunky soles and a hell of a lot more buckles on them than can possibly be necessary – they're also nearly as big as she is.

Just looking at them makes Sojiro's feet hurt.

She blows at the hair hanging in her face as she sits down to pull the boots on, and Sojiro can't help but frown when he notices the dark circles under her eyes. He can only hope that going back to school will be the thing that finally gets her back on a semi-normal sleep schedule. Wakaba had always been the same, though, even when she had to be up early for work, and he can still remember her joking about needing to be hooked up to an IV of his coffee just to get through the day... so maybe expecting Futaba to be any better is unrealistic.

He understands _why_ she's up so early, of course, he just wishes that she'd actually gone to sleep at a reasonable hour last night to compensate for it.

"That desperate to go see the Kid, huh?" he chuckles, "you know he won't be out of bed for hours, right?"

"Yeah, probably..." she admits, fingers fastening the buckles on her boots at breakneck speed, "but, that’s not important right now – I have some _critical intel_ that you _need_."

With Futaba, that could just mean that she wants him to buy her some new gadget, or it might be something about the literal end of the world.

Or anything in between.

"Oh?" Sojiro asks, checking his watch, because Sunday is generally a quiet day for the café, but he does still usually have some customers first thing in the morning, "do you think we can fit the debriefing into our walk to Leblanc?"

"Quest marker added!" she cries, jumping up and pushing past him to open the door, she marches outside without looking back.

"I'll take that as a ‘yes’?" he says to the empty entryway.

Or not so empty, after all, he thinks, as Morgana mews up at him – before he slips out through the door too. Sojiro wonders if he's imagining the sympathetic tone in that little voice, and then thinks about how strange it is that their cat commiserating with him is even a possibility in the first place.

He shakes his head and double-checks that he has his wallet, cigarettes, phone and keys before he follows them – then double and triple-checks that he locked the door, because he's still paranoid about that time he came home to find nearly the entire gang of kids in his house.

"Right," he says, pulling his lighter and the battered carton of cigarettes out of his pocket as he walks away from the house, "what's going on?"

Futaba falls into step beside him, clomping through the shallow puddles left over from last night's rain, while Morgana hangs loosely from her arms, like a furry rag doll that bounces lightly with each step. 

She doesn't seem to be in any real hurry to answer, which isn't unusual for her – Sojiro is more than used to Futaba taking a few minutes to get her thoughts in order before she speaks. So they just walk together in comfortable silence while he waits for her to be ready, and he focuses on getting his morning nicotine hit instead.

He flips the little cardboard lid on the carton of cigarettes open and peers inside. 

Damn.

There's only one, sad and slightly bent, smoke left in the box.

He wonders if he can convince Ren to watch the café for him for half an hour later (whenever he finally drags his ass out of bed), so he can go buy some more. Although, he doesn’t really want to make the kid work on his last proper day in Tokyo, so he might just have to make do… he's gotten too used to having him around to help out, and just around in general.

He's really gonna miss him when he's gone.

It would be overstepping, and definitely sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong, so it's not something that he would ever actually _do_ … but he thinks again, about how much he wants to contact Ren's parents, and pitch the idea of continuing on in his role as the kid's guardian, so he can finish out his last year of high school in Shujin. 

Because, there's no way in hell that sending Ren back to that rumour mill is the right choice for his education, or his well-being, when he’s settled in so well here.

It's pointless, though; Sojiro knows that just caring about Ren isn't enough to make him his father – the same way that being Ren's actual parents isn't enough to make the Amamiyas give a rat's ass about what's best for their son.

He pushes those thoughts far away and into the back of his mind, pinching his last smoke between his fingers as he tries to straighten it out (carefully, so that it doesn't break), before catching it in the corner of his mouth. He raises the hand not holding his lighter to try and shield the flame from the brisk March breeze. 

Futaba takes a big, deep breath, obviously gearing up to tell him whatever it is that's on her mind. 

"Okay!” she says, “so... uh, do you remember Akechi?"

Sojiro falters a little at that, completely blind sided, and he fumbles with his lighter, so it sparks uselessly in his hand instead of actually lighting the end of his smoke. 

"Yeah, of course I remember him," Sojiro replies. It would be hard to forget that kid, even if things hadn't gone down the way they had. "What's this about?"

It's a sore topic, for obvious reasons, but maybe the kids are going to do something to acknowledge the fact that Ren has been in mourning for months? Even if he hides it well, Sojiro would have to be blind to miss how heartbroken he's been.

He wouldn't mind helping them organise a little memorial, even if it is a bit last minute.

"He, um, kinda, s-sorta-" Futaba stutters and takes another big breath, Sojiro watches her with growing concern, " _-came back_."

Sojiro stops dead in his tracks, thrown for a loop (for the second time in as many minutes), as what Futaba just said properly sinks in, and his last cigarette falls, forgotten, from his lips.

It lands in a puddle with a sad little splash. 

Futaba takes a few more steps before she realises that he's not walking with her.

"Hang on a second-" he says, as she turns, "didn't this _already_ happen?"

Because he's heard the story, about the weird brainwashing _thing_ that half the country had been caught up in at the start of the year. The kids had had to explain it to him when they all showed up to Leblanc in February – when not one of them had any idea where Ren was, even though he'd already been in juvie for two months at that point. 

Sojiro doesn't recall any of that alternate reality himself, not clearly anyway, only hazy little snippets, like a half-remembered dream. 

He thinks that might be for the best.

Ultimately, what it all boiled down to was that it had, once again, fallen to a bunch of teenagers to make all of the hard decisions and to save the world. 

And he knows that Akechi kid was there with them, fighting alongside them, despite their history, and even though he was supposed to be _dead_ – just like Sojiro also knows that he's supposed to have gone back to being dead once everything else returned to normal.

"Yeah, uh, it's kind of complicated..." Futaba mumbles, and Sojiro believes her, because when is it ever simple with these kids? "-but he _is_ back, and I'm pretty sure it's for _real_ this time-"

She launches into the explanation anyway, despite his confusion, and he's not surprised, because a little thing like him not having the faintest clue about what she's saying has never stopped her before. She really gets into the nitty-gritty of it, as well, talking about dreams and _actualisation_ , and he thinks that he might actually be able to smell his brain cooking.

Sojiro would consider himself to be a pretty intelligent man, in his own way, but everyone has their strengths, and this is all a little outside of his wheelhouse.

He always misses Wakaba, it's a dull ache that he'll probably never be rid of, like the phantom pain of a missing limb – but there are times when it's keener, when he feels like he's completely lost without her.

Like when Futaba had first come to live with him, and he'd spent hours in the local pharmacy (after grabbing a new first aid kit and anything else he felt was missing from his medicine cabinet), hemming and hawing over all of the different 'feminine hygiene' products (because Futaba was at _that_ age, right? And he shouldn't wait for her to come and ask, should he? What if she was too embarrassed?), until he'd just bought one of everything and left them in a bag outside her bedroom door. Of course, he'd quickly found out that he had been all het up over nothing, when she sent him an awkward little 'thank you' text to tell him that she could buy everything she needed online.

And he’d needed Wakaba, desperately, when Futaba’s depression got so bad that she reached the point where she wouldn't come out of her room anymore, when she would barely say more than two words to him through the door when he brought her clean laundry or food. When the doctors that he spoke to were completely useless, and just left him terrified that he was going to get a call from a social worker saying that they were going to have to remove her from his care.

But this – this Phantom Thieves/cognitive psience stuff, it's all so far above his pay grade that he doesn't even know _where_ to begin.

Wakaba would have, though. She'd have known exactly how to handle _all of this_.

Futaba stops talking then, trailing off, and Sojiro wonders if he's going to have to prompt her for the layman's version of everything she just said, when Morgana suddenly becomes very talkative, and she almost jumps to attention.

"Right! Yeah, the important thing-" she says, "is that he's in Leblanc!"

Well, that’s… _something_.

It’s a problem that he knows how to approach, at least.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asks,carefully, "coming with me to the café, if he's there?"

She spends a couple of seconds watching her feet, while she walks, like she's searching for the right words for what she wants to say in the puddles she's trudging through.

"In January, when he came back the first time, we _had_ to let him rejoin as a temporary party member, y’know? Because we needed the extra firepower to fight Maruki – he doesn’t look it, but Akechi’s DPS is _no joke_ ,” she says, conspiratorially, as if Sojiro has the foggiest notion of what _that_ means. "I guess that this all just makes me feel a bit like I'm reloading a save? Like I've done this already, and I know that I can take it, even if it is probably gonna suck.

“I mean, I don't think I'll ever be able to _forgive_ him _,_ for what he did… to Mom, and to all those other people… but I-I've been thinking it over, and I, uh, can't really blame him either, not really, not after all the Shido _stuff_ … And he did kind of sacrifice himself for us, twice..." she stops, there's a flash of uncertainty in her expression for a second before it hardens into something more determined, and she shifts Morgana to the side and into the crook of her elbow so that she can do a little fist-pump. "It won't be easy, I know that – but I want to give him a chance. For me, and for Mom."

There’s suddenly a lump in Sojiro’s throat, and his eyes are damp in a way that he can’t quite blame on the breeze.

"I'm so proud of you, Futaba," he says, reaching out to ruffle her hair, "and Wakaba would be too."

"Heh, thanks, Sojiro," she sniffles, grinning and rubbing at her nose with her free hand, but then she gets this serious look on her face and peers up at him over the rims of her glasses. "But what about you? How do _you_ feel about it?"

It’s a valid question, but he’s still surprised by it, and he has to take a second to think it over.

Truthfully, he wouldn't say that he thinks that Akechi is _blameless_ , no, but Sojiro knows (both from being told directly, and by virtue of just being in the same room when the kids were talking about it) that he also had the deck completely stacked against him. Because he must have been... what? Fifteen? Maybe sixteen years old? When Shido got his claws into him, and all kids that age are screw ups, they're _supposed_ to be, it's part of growing up – but they're also supposed to be able to do it safely, under the watchful eye of a parent or guardian.

Taking his age into account, the isolation, cognitive psience superpowers, and an asshole of a father who was all too happy to take advantage of all of those things... Well, it was just a recipe for disaster. 

The thing is though, if he’s honest... his only real priority is how it affects the kids in his care. 

He reaches up to adjust his hat and shrugs. 

"Look, as long as _you're_ okay, and _Ren's_ okay, then _I'm_ okay."

"Pffft, don't worry about Ren," she laughs and rolls her eyes, and Sojiro isn't quite sure what to make of _that_ , but he decides not to press – they're already running late as it is. "And _I'm_ all good to go."

So they do, resuming their short journey to the café, Futaba and Morgana chatter to each other as they go, and Sojiro waves to the handful of neighbours and shopkeepers that they see on their way.

There's already a couple of old-timers huddled under the awning when they get to Leblanc, and they make a fuss over Futaba and Morgana while he unlocks the door. He smiles, and is hit with another wave of pride when he hears her quiet replies to their attempts at small talk – it only feels like yesterday that she needed to hide under that big novelty mask just to have a conversation with other people.

Sojiro opens the door and ushers everyone in ahead of him before he follows them inside, his eyes skim around the interior of the café as he heads behind the counter. There's nothing out of the ordinary, and everything is still in its proper place, as far as he can see… there certainly isn't anything that screams 'some kid magically rematerialised here last night' anyway.

In the end, the morning passes like any other – he turns on the TV, starts the water boiling for the coffee siphons and checks on the curry pot that’s been simmering away on a low heat overnight. The only real difference is having Futaba in the centre booth, talking to Morgana as she works away on something complicated that apparently requires two laptops, a whole pile of tech junk, and one very small screwdriver.

The hours tick by, a handful of customers come and go, and unsurprisingly, there's no sign of Ren (or Akechi, for that matter), because he can't remember the last time that the kid got up before eleven on a Sunday. He’s washing a couple of cups at the sink, at around half nine, when he looks up to see Futaba making a pillow for herself out of her coat.

"Tired of waiting?"

"Nah, I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a minute," she says, unconvincingly, through a yawn, "my MP is dangerously low… need to let it regen..."

Morgana bats at her shoulder and meows something that sounds, funnily enough, like he’s scolding her for something.

"Yeah, yeah, Mona," she huffs, waving her hand at the cat until he leaves her alone and jumps up onto the back of the seat behind her, "maybe I'd have been able to get some sleep last night if _you_ hadn't woken me up – didja ever think about _that_ , huh?"

Sojiro chuckles to himself as he gets back to work, and things are quiet again after that, mostly. He _is_ almost positive that he hears movement (and maybe even voices), coming from upstairs once or twice, though, but it's nothing definite – nothing that couldn't potentially just be his nerves playing tricks on him.

Not until just after eleven, when something hits the floor above him, with a heavy thud that actually shakes the lighting fixtures above the bar. Sojiro is leaning over his crossword, still trying to figure out ten across, when it happens. It makes him jerk in surprise, and sends his pen skittering across the page, leaving a jagged blue line in its wake. 

Futaba, for her part, doesn't stir, but Morgana sits up, suddenly alert, eyes wide and ears swivelled towards the stairs.

"What the hell is going on up there?" he grumbles, in Morgana's general direction, as he rounds the bar and heads for the bottom of the stairs.

The cat, of course, only meows at him, then stands, stretches, yawns, turns in a circle, and curls right back up into a sleepy ball – apparently unconcerned.

That's reassuring, at least, because he's sure that Morgana would be able to hear if they were killing each other up there. Maybe they’re just rough housing... although, that Akechi kid never did really seem like the _type_ , what with his fussy little sweater vests and all. 

Then another possibility occurs to him, as he thinks back on Futaba's earlier reassurance that he didn't need to worry about Ren, the implication is suddenly obvious. And it _would_ line up with some of his own past suspicions about the relationship between those boys. 

He hadn't suggested that the two of them go to the bathhouse together that time because he actually thought they needed a good soak, after all.

No, he'd just been fed up, watching the two of them making moon eyes at each other across the bar, and thought that they needed a little nudge in the right direction.

Then everything in November had happened, and he'd assumed that he'd read them wrong – or that he'd at least read _Akechi_ wrong.

There's that small twinge of worry in Sojiro's chest again.

"Kid?" he calls, keeping one eye on Futaba as he does. She doesn't even twitch. "You okay up there?"

A few tense seconds pass, but then Ren's head pops into view above him, leaning over the bannister. The kid is obviously still in one piece, anyway, but he's not wearing a shirt… and, Sojiro might not have the best viewing angle from down here, but he's pretty sure that there's an angry purple mark on the side of his neck.

"I'm fine, Boss!" Ren beams down at him, he’s flushed and sounds out of breath, "be down in a few minutes!"

And then he disappears again.

Sojiro blinks a couple of times at the empty space, before he groans, removing his glasses with one hand so that he can drag the other down his face. 

_Teenagers_.

Sojiro can see that Futaba was right on the money.

He's not going to think too closely about _how_ she knew, though. Some things are just better left a mystery.

If this kind of thing had happened last year, he’d have had to sit Ren down and have the uncomfortable conversation about setting some ground rules about having these kinds of ‘sleepovers’ in his place of business, but he supposes that he can let it slide, since the kid _is_ only here for one more night…

And at least he won’t have to talk to him about birth control.

Ren's 'few minutes' turns out to be closer to fifteen, and Sojiro is starting to get a little antsy, when he finally hears the familiar sound of the kid's shoes on the stairs. The first thing that stands out to Sojiro, as being unusual, when Ren comes into sight, is that he's wearing a turtleneck, which – yeah, that pretty much confirms that the bruise on his neck that he glimpsed earlier was a bite mark.

The less he thinks about _that_ the better.

The second thing is that the kid looks more sheepish than Sojiro has _ever_ seen him, even more so than when he first came to stay here a year ago.

"Mornin'..." Ren says, voice small as he hangs back, awkwardly, on the opposite side of the room, instead of coming to sit at the bar like he would on any other morning.

Sojiro decides to put him out of his misery.

"Look, Kid. I _know_ , alright?" he says, with a sigh, "Futaba already told me… so you can just, ah, bring him down for some breakfast."

Some of the tension goes out of Ren’s shoulders, and he loses that 'deer caught in the headlights' look, at least, even if he does still sound a little nervous when he asks, "you're sure it's okay?"

"I wouldn't have suggested it if it wasn't," and maybe it comes out a little harsher than he intended, but if anything, that just seems to reassure Ren. The kid knows him too well. “Curry’s in the pot, and there’s a couple of eggs there too – if he’d prefer something like that. It’s on the house, but you’re the one who’s taking care of everything, you hear me?”

“I do. Thanks, Sojiro,” Ren sounds incredibly relieved, “really, it means a lot to me.”

“It’s nothing, don't worry about it,” Sojiro coughs and looks away, wiping the bar down with a dish rag, it’s spotless, but Ren probably can’t see that from all the way over there.

Thankfully, Morgana chooses that moment to try and get Ren’s attention, and Sojiro takes the opportunity to duck back into the kitchen area. Busying himself with checking on the curry, while he keeps one ear trained on their little conversation – he hears Ren apologise to Morgana for last night, and promise to make it up to him.

So he'd been right, Morgana _had_ been in the café when he was closing up yesterday evening, after all. 

It's good to know that he's not going senile.

“Oh, uh, Sojiro?”

“What is it now, Kid?”

“Morgana says that Futaba didn’t tell you-” Ren mumbles, glancing over at where she’s still slumped over the table, “-so, sorry for the short notice, but everyone is on their way over…” 

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that they’d all dropped in, unannounced. He’s just glad that he had the forethought to stock back up on soda, because while Futaba will drink coffee if there’s nothing else there, he knows that Ryuji kid won’t touch it.

“It’s fine,” he says, waving a dismissive hand at Ren – who grins at him before turning and disappearing back into the space that leads to the bathroom, and the stairwell, to call up to the other kid.

"You can come down now, Goro!"

There’s the sound of shoes on the stairs again, slower and quieter than when Ren came down at a half jog earlier. Sojiro watches Morgana jump from the back of the seat behind Futaba (who is _still_ unconscious) to the opposite side of the booth, lying down, closing his eyes, and seemingly going back to sleep, all while putting himself directly between her and the point where Akechi is going to be entering the room. Sojiro is touched by the protective gesture, and he makes a mental note to pick up some of the nicer sushi from the grocery store around the corner for Morgana later.

Ren and Akechi walk into the café together, and Sojiro is caught off guard by just how _thrown_ he is... seeing this dead kid, standing there, very much alive and looking a whole lot less put-together than Sojiro is used to. Maybe he was being foolish, thinking that it had properly sunk in, just by talking about it with Futaba, because he’s rapidly realising that he hadn’t honestly _believed_ it until now – now that he’s actually seeing Akechi with his own two eyes.

He whistles, low and through his teeth, and Akechi starts at the sound, whirling to look at him with wide, distrustful eyes. It reminds Sojiro of the way Futaba used to flinch, tellingly, at every loud noise, for weeks after he’d gotten her away from her asshole uncle.

Akechi collects himself quickly, hiding his panicked wariness behind an expression that’s deceptively neutral, and Sojiro would be impressed, if it wasn't so damn sad.

"Hoo-boy... it _really is_ you," he says, walking back to his usual spot behind the bar, "and here I thought you kids had run out of ways to surprise me."

"Good morning, Sakura-san," Akechi drops into a deep bow as he says it, "I apologise for intruding like this."

"The way Futaba tells it, it doesn't sound like you had much of a choice," Sojiro clears his throat, awkwardly, and waits for Akechi to look back up before he gestures towards the stools at the bar. "Now, sit down and I'll get you a cup of coffee – you're probably going to need it, the other kids are all going to be here any minute now."

Akechi just stares at him for a long second, as if an invitation to take a seat was the literal last thing that he expected Sojiro to say to him – and it looks like he might actually question it, mouth parted slightly and eyebrows drawn together in confusion. But then, he seems to think better of it and mumbles a quiet ‘thank you’ as he moves to sit on a stool, the one that he always used to favour, back when he was still a regular here.

Sojiro catches Ren’s eye and jerks his thumb behind him towards the kitchen. “Don’t forget that we already agreed that you’re on breakfast duty this morning, Kid.”

“Ah, right!” Ren jumps a little, like he'd been off somewhere in his own head, and he casts one last lovesick look at the other boy’s back before he rounds the counter, grabbing his apron off the hook on the way.

Making a cup of coffee is as easy as breathing for Sojiro, and he has a steaming cup on the bar in front of the other kid in no time at all, which means that Akechi does, at the very least, have the time to get through half a cup in relative peace, before the little bell over the door jingles ominously.

Ann comes through the door first, followed by Yusuke, and then Ryuji and Makoto, who have Haru sandwiched protectively in between them. Sojiro can see that she’s been crying – probably not recently, because her eyes are noticeably puffy, but her make-up is still perfect.

It's kind of funny, watching five teenagers nearly falling over each other, so they can stay huddled together just inside the door, clearly anxious about the kid sitting at the bar, who looks just as wary of them as they do of him.

Ren chooses that exact moment to _swan_ out of the kitchen nook with a bowl in one hand and a plate in the other, smiling brightly – Sojiro would bet money on it all being bravado, though, because there’s no way that he’s not nervous as hell.

But, he supposes, there’s a reason that they all follow Ren, and sometimes, being a leader means lying out your ass.

“Hi, guys,” he says, walking casually up along the inside of the bar, stopping just beside Sojiro and in front of Akechi, placing the bowl down beside the other boy's coffee cup. Sojiro can see that it’s egg on rice, rather than the curry that Ren has on his own plate. Akechi doesn’t even glance at it, too busy trying to stare the others down like a cornered animal. “Are you going to come in, or just keep standing there?”

“Yeah, s-stop making it weird,” Futaba pipes up, pushing her glasses up her nose, and cringing only slightly in her seat when everyone turns to look at her. Sojiro hadn’t even noticed that she'd woken up.

And maybe there’s something to just pretending that everything is normal, because that seems to do the trick, and they all start filing in, each making their own little awkward effort to greet Akechi as they wedge themselves into the booth with Futaba. She ropes Yusuke into helping her move most of her equipment off the table and onto the ledge at the side of the booth, beside the old magazines. 

Sojiro takes their drinks orders: coffee for everyone, except for Futaba and Ryuji, who want soda, and Morgana, who (according to the kids) would like some milk. Ren removes his apron and takes his curry to go sit on the bar stool beside Akechi, and Sojiro doesn't miss the way he reaches out to squeeze Akechi’s wrist as he does it.

Ann, at least, definitely sees it too, and she doesn’t look particularly surprised. He wonders how many of them actually know that Ren and Akechi are... what? Going out? 

Sojiro sighs to himself. He’s too old for all this teenage drama.

The café is deathly quiet as he pours the drinks, the only sounds are Futaba tapping away on her keyboard, the coffee siphons, and the soft scrape of utensils as Ren and Akechi eat their breakfasts. 

Most of the kids have their noses buried in their phones when he brings them their orders, and he’s just glad to have something to do with his hands, if only to take the edge off the awkward silence hanging over them.

He’s surprised when Akechi is the one to break it.

Although, it does make a kind of sense, since out of all the kids, he is probably the one that has the most experience with having to speak in front of a tough crowd. He can still remember seeing how the people on TV ripped into him after the whole Medjed fiasco, and how Akechi had smiled through all of it.

“Are we waiting for Yoshizawa-san?” Akechi asks, and it comes out smoothly enough, even though Sojiro can see how tightly he’s holding onto the handle of his coffee cup, knuckles nearly as white as the ceramic.

“Sumire has some gymnastics thing,” Futaba answers him, and her voice only shakes a little, “she’s not back until tomorrow.”

"I see,” Akechi sets his cup down gently, pushes his still-half-full bowl away from himself, and turns slightly on his stool to face the other kids. “Well, as enjoyable as all this peace and quiet has been – I’m sure that you probably have questions, and for once, I don’t have any reason _not_ to answer them, so – ask away.”

That sends a rumble of murmurs through the group in the booth, Sojiro isn't surprised that they all seem to be looking to Makoto, because there's already a line in the sand, and Ren is sitting on the other side of it – with Akechi.

“I’ll start with the obvious question, then, Akechi-kun,” she says, tone firm and all business, “how exactly is this possible? How are you able to be here?”

“This reminds me a little of when I spoke at Shujin’s culture festival,” Akechi says, chuckling into a loose fist. He’s holding himself and speaking almost exactly the same way he does when he’s giving interviews on TV, and even though it is a little eerie, Sojiro doesn’t really understand why the rest of them all seem either confused or annoyed by it. 

Not until Ann speaks up.

“This is _weird_ ,” she says, scrunching her nose, “why are you acting all nice again?”

The smile falls off Akechi’s face at an alarming speed, and without it, he just looks resigned, and incredibly tired. “Would you prefer that I didn’t?”

“Kinda?” Ryuji says, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, “even if the real you _is_ kind of an asshole, that's still better than being fake, ya know?”

"I was just trying to- _never mind_ ,” he sighs, and then drags a hand over his face. “I saw all of you talking about it in the chat this morning, so you already know that the Velvet Room was involved. That's where I've been, all this time, in some kind of suspended animation – and no, before you ask, I don’t remember it – they were keeping me there until my soul could recover enough for me to come back."

"I felt your signal disappear in Shido's palace, though," Futaba says, without looking up from her laptop, "how does _that_ work? Did you just clip through the floor?"

" _Clip_ …? What does that even-? No, actually, don't answer that. _Look_ , I was just as confused as you are," Akechi holds his hands up as he says it, and Sojiro doubts that any of _them_ are as confused as _he_ is, "I remember being shot, I remember losing more blood than is even _remotely_ survivable, and I still woke up in the Velvet Room last night, regardless." 

"It's because he's a Wild Card, like me," Ren says, conversationally, spinning his spoon on the knuckle of his thumb, “apparently we can’t really die in the metaverse.”

There’s a ruckus as the kids and Morgana all react to _that_.

Sojiro shifts from one foot to the other, uncomfortable, he doesn’t like being reminded of just how dangerous the double lives that these kids had been living could get. He wonders, sometimes, if there’s more that he could have done to help, to keep them safe – but he still has nightmares about Christmas Eve, the rain of blood, and towers of bone… what was one washed up government official supposed to do in the face of actual _gods_?

He’s just grateful that it’s done now, and they can all get back to being normal teenagers again.

“And what of the January you spent with us?” Yusuke asks, “Morgana told us that Maruki plucked you from the icy clutches of Death itself.”

“If I’m being _charitable_ ,” Akechi sneers, “I’d say that Maruki just made an assumption, based on your memories and the fact that I wasn’t _technically_ in the land of the living when he started bending reality.”

“And if you’re being _un_ charitable?” Makoto prompts.

“I’d say that he knew, and actively lied about it to manipulate Ren.”

“Maruki-sensei wouldn’t-” Ren starts, but Akechi cuts him off.

“Wouldn’t _what_? Use me as a fucking _bargaining chip_ to try to force your hand?! Because that’s _exactly_ what he did, Ren, and you know it!”

Ren opens his mouth to protest, but he closes it again when Morgana starts meowing. Sojiro can tell, from the tight line of Ren’s jaw, that the cat is probably agreeing (at least in part) with Akechi.

And after Sojiro recovers from the initial shock of hearing the Akechi kid swearing like a damn sailor, the rest of what he said starts to sink in – the fact that Ren had been essentially blackmailed by that man is news to him. There's a flash of dull anger in his chest when he thinks back to the time that mild-mannered school counsellor was sitting right here, at the bar, speaking with Futaba about her mother’s research. He should have trusted his instincts and kicked him out the second he mentioned Wakaba's name.

Not that it would have made any difference to what happened, but at least he would have felt good about it.

Morgana stops talking, Ren doesn't seem inclined to try and argue the point again, and Akechi is just staring at his hands, where they're folded in his lap. A handful of tense seconds tick by before Makoto speaks up.

"Akechi-kun," she says, "I do have another question for you – and you obviously don't have to answer it if you don't want to, but... the revenge plan that you outlined to us in the engine room… I've always wondered about what it actually entailed? Or how you came to be involved with Shido in the first place? I can't make sense of it in my head..."

"Ah, I was wondering if Shido would come up," Akechi says, with a laugh that comes out mechanical and slightly flat, "I would like to get something out of the way, before I try to answer your question. I know that I said it already, in Mementos before, but I need to make sure that you understand that I _am_ truly grateful to you for defeating Shido in my stead… even if a change of heart isn't exactly how I would have done it, I appreciate it all the same."

"Yeah, dude, about that time in Mementos..." Ryuji starts, and his leg is bouncing so violently that he’s practically vibrating in his seat, "I was a real dick to you, when you tried to thank us, and I, uh, just wanna say sorry?"

"Please, don't apologise to me, Sakamoto," Akechi sounds genuinely pained, and he sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "Now, I'll do my best to answer the question, Niijima… I don't know how well I'll be able to explain… but the gist of it is: not long after I awakened to my powers, I learned that my father had a palace-”

“How?” Yusuke cuts in, and the corner of Akechi’s mouth spasms as he obviously makes an effort not to react poorly to being interrupted.

“It came to me in a dream, which I have recently come to learn, means that it was most likely _Yaldabaoth’s_ meddling – regardless, after some trial and error, I guessed Shido's keywords and entered his palace. I realised, very quickly, however, that I couldn't get anywhere near his shadow without those letters of introduction-"

The kids all nod in understanding.

"-and, of course, I wasn't strong enough at that point to acquire them by force… But I had an idea, that if I approached him and offered to help him get a leg up on his opponents in the real world – that if I infiltrated his real life inner circle, that it might weaken his mental defences against me."

"Okay, that _does_ kinda make sense," Futaba admits.

"Of course it does,” Akechi tuts, “but, as I've already said, I was still _pathetically_ weak then, so the only thing that I could really bring to the table was a way to spy on people's shadows for him, and being able to cause minor scandals using Loki's fledgling abilities. But, if there’s one thing that my father is good at, it’s bleeding every last drop of potential out of anything that he thinks might be of use to him. You see, Shido had already been interested in cognitive psience research for years when I approached him – he had his own little stable of pet researchers prepped and ready to figure out exactly just _how_ useful I could be. So, as I’m sure you can imagine, it wasn’t long before he became convinced that there were better _applications_ for my powers... and that was when he started shutting down, and stealing, any and all work from competing academics in the field…"

"Mom…" Futaba whispers, and Sojiro watches, helplessly, as Ann reaches across the table to squeeze her hand.

His first instinct is to interrupt and stop the conversation, but he reminds himself of her conviction on the walk over this morning, and how she said that she _wanted_ to do this.

"It was an accident..." Akechi says, voice tight, staring up at the ceiling, nobody needs to ask for clarification about what he's referring to, "she just fought me _so hard_ … and by the time I realised what had happened it was already too late… and _I know_ that that doesn't _excuse_ it, but it is the truth…" he trails off and takes a breath, lowering his eyes to meet Futaba’s, "do you want me to stop?"

"No," Futaba sniffles, and looks away, Sojiro's heart lurches in his chest, "k-keep going. It's hard to hear, but I _need_ to know..."

Akechi crosses his arms, silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, but Sojiro doesn’t miss how stiff his posture has gone, and the way he’s only radiating more and more tension with each passing second. Like the rumbling of a kettle that’s about to boil over.

When he speaks again, his upper lip curls away from his teeth in a snarl and his tone has turned caustic.

"That was the first mental shutdown, and of course, Shido was _ecstatic_ , and I was… I was _stuck_ , like a _fucking_ _moron_!" his words are coming out in a rush now. "And I knew exactly what would happen if I tried to leave... so I just kept digging this _stupid_ fucking hole, deeper and deeper, getting more and more blood on my hands, because I thought that if I could at least put a bullet in his _bald fucking head_ at the end of it all that maybe it would be worth it-"

"Goro, you don't have to-" Ren tries to interrupt, but Akechi continues on anyway.

"And it became almost easy, the more I did it – you've all been to the metaverse, you've fought the monsters that their shadows turn into. It's like a game. They don't even bleed! The _only_ time it was ever _difficult_ ," his voice cracks around the word, and he shares a wild, wounded look with Ren that makes Sojiro feel like he's witnessing something too intimate to be happening here, in front of an audience, "the only time it ever felt _real_ , was the one time it wasn't."

"Goro…" Ren says, quietly. 

Ryuji looks back and forth between Akechi and Ren, his eyes almost bugging out of his head, and if he didn't already know what the nature of their relationship was... Well, Sojiro would be very surprised if he hasn't connected the dots, after that little exchange.

"Then, of course, I fought you all on that cursed fucking ship, my father's shitty cognition of me showed up, and made it very clear that my revenge had been unobtainable from the very beginning – and every horrific thing I'd done in pursuit of it, was for _nothing_!" Akechi laughs then, bitterly, and it makes the hair on the back of Sojiro's neck stand on end. "So, yes, Niijima, it's no wonder you can't make sense of it all, really – because it spiralled so far out of control that I can hardly make any fucking sense of it myself!"

Ren gets up off his stool entirely, to pull Akechi into a hug, and the silence that follows is nearly suffocating.

Sojiro casts his eyes around the room, preparing himself for the worst – but he needn't have worried, because, sure, one or two of the kids look shocked, and maybe there might have been a time when they'd have been angry, but he can see the compassion and sympathy in them now – even if they still look uncomfortable as hell.

"Does anyone need a refill?" Sojiro offers, and they all accept, clearly grateful for the distraction.

And as he goes around, topping up their drinks, the tension in the air dissipates a little, enough that he feels like he can breathe again, at least. 

Ren returns to his seat, but he keeps his fingers firmly laced with Akechi’s.

“Excuse me, everyone,” Haru pipes up, and every head in the room turns to look at her, “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what I’d say to Akechi-kun, if I ever saw him again, and I’d like to say my piece. If that’s okay with all of you.”

There’s a chorus of mumbled affirmatives and supportive (if concerned) words before she continues.

“Akechi-kun, before I start, I just want to say that I appreciate your honesty, and that even though I think that everything you did was reprehensible, and I’m not sure if I can ever forgive you, I’ve also come to find your situation somewhat... understandable,” she pauses to take a sip of her coffee, hand shaking slightly as she returns the cup to its saucer. “I’ve had a lot of time to think on it, about what would have happened, if my father ever found out that I had the potential to awaken a persona. And I know – in my heart – that if he could s-sell me off to a _monster_ without batting an eye, then he would have had no issue with forcing me to do exactly what _your_ father was forcing _you_ to do.”

And she’s crying now, Sojiro wrings his hands in his dish rag and looks away. Which just leaves him looking directly at Akechi, who is sitting ramrod straight on the stool, watching Haru with a pained expression on his face.

“I would like to think that I’d have refused, of course, but I can’t really know that, _none_ of us know what we’re truly capable of until we’re pushed – or trapped, and I’m sure that if everyone here were to look inside of themselves, they would be able to admit that they might have made the same decisions that you did, if they had been forced into the same hopeless situation. So, Akechi-kun, I want you to know – even before I heard everything you had to say – that I place the blame for my father’s murder entirely at Shido's feet. And even though, for the longest time, I thought that I should, or that I needed to – I _don’t_ hate you.”

She goes quiet and daintily dabs at her face and nose with a polka dot handkerchief, as Makoto puts her arms around her and hugs her close.

“I’d fail a charisma check if I even _tried_ to give a big speech like that,” Futaba says with a shrug, “but, uh, _same_.”

“What Haru said is true,” Yusuke says, looking up from the complicated mosaic he’s been making out of torn napkins, “I’ve often thought about how easily I could have gone down a similar path, had I not met all of you. The similarities between Madarame and Shido have not escaped me.”

“Back when we went up against Kamoshida-” Ren speaks up, “Morgana wasn’t even sure if he would survive the change of heart-" Morgana meows something but Ren holds up his hand, "-but I still did it anyway, I hardly even thought twice about it, honestly… Ryuji was the only one who stood up and said that it was wrong.”

“Yeah, man,” Ryuji says, “but I still went along with it... y'know, coz we were balls to the wall.”

“Ren, Ryuji and Morgana were there, so they know… but just after we stole Kamoshida’s treasure, I really did come close to destroying his shadow.” Ann says, quietly, making a show of checking her nails. “And I didn’t spare him because it was the right thing to do, either. I wanted him to suffer, for what he did to Shiho, and I felt like death was too easy for him.”

Sojiro’s eyebrows are currently in the vicinity of where his hairline was ten years ago. This conversation has certainly taken a _turn_.

“The stakes were never quite so high for me, before I had the support of everyone else,” Makoto chimes in, “but I understand the concept of the ‘sunk cost fallacy’ well enough, and I’m far too familiar with being used as a tool by corrupt adults, to not have any empathy, or sympathy for your situation, Akechi-kun.”

"I, ah, don't know what to say-" Akechi sounds uncomfortable, his voice strained, "-but 'thank you' is as good a place as any to start, I suppose… and for what it’s worth, I am sorry, for all of the pain I’ve caused you."

Sojiro is worried that that suffocating quiet is going to take over the room again, but then Ann sighs dramatically, stretching her arms above her head.

"Can we talk about something less depressing now?" she asks, twirling one pigtail around her fingers, as if they hadn’t just been having a conversation about how close they’ve all come to killing people. Sojiro wonders, idly, if it’s too early in the day to have a drink. "It's Ren's last day! This is totally not the vibe we should be leaving him with!"

"Well, I do have one last thing to say, and it’s definitely about a happier subject," Makoto starts, smiling demurely, "Akechi-kun, I can't help but notice that you and Ren seem to be… very _close_ this morning. I suppose that congratulations are in order?”

Ren is smiling too, although he also looks a little nervous. Akechi opens his mouth to speak, but before he can – Futaba loudly hums (and bangs out on the table) a few bars of a song that Sojiro doesn't recognise, and going by the confused looks on everyone's faces, he's not the only one.

" _What_?" Futaba squawks, "you seriously don't know the victory theme from Penultimate Phantasy?! You guys suck!"

"What does that have to do with Akechi and Ren?" Ann asks, at the same time that Ryuji says "Oooh, _that's_ what that's from."

" _Duh_ , I'm celebrating the fact that Makoto realised that these two dummies-" she jerks one thumb in Ren and Akechi's direction, " _-finally_ resolved the whole 'rivals to lovers' thing they've had going on for _forever_!"

Ryuji stands up and crosses the short distance between them to yank Ren out of his seat and into a bear hug, “I’m happy for you, man.” Sojiro can see that he’s grinning as he pulls back, and he only hesitates for a second before he claps Akechi on the shoulder for good measure, maybe a little harder than he really needs to.

And they’re all piling out of the booth now – Ann is next, looping an arm around each boy’s neck in a hug that Ren returns easily, but Akechi seems entirely dumbstruck by. His hand just hovers over her back for a second before he settles for patting at her, awkwardly, a couple of times, clearly unsure of how to handle the sudden affection.

“I believe that I’ll have to make some modifications to the piece I have been working on…” Yusuke mutters to himself, stepping to the side so that he can fit both of them in the frame he’s making with his fingers. “Something to capture the _intensity_! The _passion_! Inherent in the nature of a relationship between former adversaries!”

“Ugh, do you have to be so weird about it, Inari?” Futaba groans, throwing a balled up napkin at him, “and, _gross_ , I don’t want to think about their ‘ _passion_ ’.”

Makoto and Haru go together, arms linked, Makoto repeats her earlier congratulations and gives Ren a quick one-armed hug that must rival Ryuji’s in intensity, because Sojiro hears the ‘oomph’ the kid makes as he has the breath squeezed out of him. 

Haru smiles a slightly wobbly smile, and her eyes are still red rimmed, but her gaze is intense and sincere. “I’m overjoyed for the both of you, truly.” 

“Thanks, Haru,” Ren says, smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you, Okumura,” Akechi says, voice tellingly rough.

And that seems to do it, Sojiro wouldn’t quite say that everything feels _normal_ again, but it doesn’t feel like he needs to brace himself against a bomb that’s about to go off any second either. 

Which is an improvement, whatever way you cut it.

"Do any of you kids want some curry? We're pushing up on lunchtime, and I'm guessing that most of you have been up longer than these two," he says, tipping his chin towards Akechi and Ren. "All this talking is hungry work."

"Curry would be wonderful, Boss." Yusuke is first out the gate, unsurprisingly, "Thank you."

The others are quick to follow, and Ren jumps up off his stool to come and help, although he stops on his way to the kitchen and turns back to Akechi.

"Did you want something else to eat, Goro?"

"Why?" Akechi asks, clearly confused. "Why wouldn't I want some of Sakura-san's curry?"

"Uh, well, I helped to make it last night and it might be a _little_ on the _spicy side_ …"

"And what would make you think that I have a problem with spicy food?"

" _Bro_ ," Ryuji laughs, and Akechi jolts in his seat. Futaba is snickering to herself, and Ren is clearly trying not to laugh too. "You don't think we bought your whole act with the takoyaki that time, right?"

"Yeah, you were totally obvious," Ann adds, with a giggle.

Sojiro has no idea what they're talking about (although, he can make a good guess, from context), but he still knows what they're doing, thinking that a little good-natured ribbing will help to cement the fragile good cheer in the air. 

He isn't sure that _Akechi_ knows that though.

" _Ren_ ,” Akechi’s gaze is bright, intense, and full of challenge, “bring me some _fucking curry_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This was a tough chapter for me, for a lot of reasons, the largest of which was trying to get a good handle on how the other characters feel about Akechi in canon. I have a folder of screenshots of in game dialogue about it - from November, the engine room (and the immediate aftermath), the third semester, the Thieves Den and Mementos, and... they're all pretty blasé about the whole thing? The only one who ever seems directly antagonistic is Ryuji, and even that's only once or twice - and it comes off more as him being protective of his friends rather than actually having a problem with Akechi himself.
> 
> I ended up with, like, six drafts of the conversation between the Thieves and Akechi, each one landing somewhere on a sliding scale of light-hearted to angsty... and I think that the one that I decided to go with, probably falls somewhere around a 2? So, I guess I'm sorry if anyone was waiting for some crazy dramatic fallout where they all just laid into Akechi... but I just wasn't feeling it? Ha.
> 
> Also, I'm on Twitter if you want to come say hi - @CloudMenaceBird


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks!
> 
> Shorter update than usual this time, because my head is a bit all over the place at the moment and writing isn't coming as easily as it normally does. Womp.

It has been a very long time since Goro has had somewhere that even slightly felt like ' _home_ ' to him, but Leblanc has always been close, and possibly the only place other than Jazz Jin that he's ever felt in any way comfortable in. He’s always loved the atmosphere here, a slightly dingy, retro charm that feels one thousand times more authentic than what could be found in any one of the fake-cutesy cafés he used to visit when he was still writing for his sham of a food blog – each one peddling their gimmick of the week, instead of learning how to actually make a halfway decent cup of coffee. 

There are no more plots, no more schemes – nothing that might be jeopardised by allowing himself to admit that he’s always been somewhat _partial_ to the company here too. And he lets himself think back to the last time he was here socially, on one long, bittersweet evening in early November, spent indulging in ill-advised flirtation, as he traded barbs with Ren over a chessboard. If he closes his eyes, he can almost hear the soothing background noise of the rain that had been pitter-pattering against the window while they played. 

When he has so few memories that could be considered positive at all, let alone happy, is it really any wonder that he’s become attached to the place that’s played host to so many of them?

And now, as he listens to the quaintly domestic sounds coming from Leblanc's kitchen (the clink of plates and cutlery, and the low hum of conversation between Sakura and Ren), he thinks about how he _should_ be reassured by their familiarity.

Unfortunately, and because of nothing more than his own impulsive, competitive _stupidity_ , he has to sit here, and stew in the knowledge that he's (most likely) going to make a complete and utter fool of himself. 

In front of all of the Phantom Thieves.

Again.

Goro tries to force himself to relax, resting his elbows on the bar and leaning forward over his cup of coffee. He inhales the steam along with the rich, bitter scent of the blend, as if it might coat his palate and protect him from whatever heavily spiced monstrosity Ren is going to be serving him.

It’s the absolute height of melodramatic histrionics, he knows, but it feels like he's a doomed man on death row, awaiting his punishment – somehow more nervous now than he had been when he realised that he was going to have to be the one to bite the bullet and get the ball rolling on anything resembling a conversation, between him and the Phantom Thieves. It had been obvious that no-one else was going to do it, once Ren had, apparently, decided to abandon his role as the _Charismatic Leader_ and do his best impression of a statue instead. All while the rest of them had just sat there, and stared at him dumbly. 

Goro is a public speaker, for fuck’s sake! It really shouldn't have been as difficult as it was, but he’s out of practice, and once he started actually talking... Well, things had very quickly snowballed into an impromptu summary of the complete shit show that his life has been, ever since the day that he discovered the little red icon for the meta-nav on the cracked screen of his second-hand phone. 

Is it really any wonder that he’s still reeling? Because if he thought that spilling his guts to a group of people that he once would have called his enemies was a strange experience, then nothing could have prepared him for the absolutely _mind-boggling_ show of solidarity, as they all took turns, trying to empathise with his situation. And that was before he stopped to think about the fact that the whole thing had been spearheaded by _Okumura_ , of all people. 

He's still not sure how he feels about _that_.

It may be hard to understand, but it _is_ an easy, and welcome, distraction to get caught up in, thinking over the supremely awkward, but definitely less catastrophic than he'd expected, exchange that he just had with the group of teenagers that are happily chattering away amongst themselves in the booth behind him.

He's not sure if it's because they're actually comfortable around him now, or if it's affected camaraderie for Ren's benefit – he has to remind himself sometimes, that they're all better actors than they appear. They'd all been aware of what he'd been planning to do in Sae-san's palace, and in the interrogation room afterwards, after all, and he hadn't noticed anything unusual about their behaviour then either.

Maybe it's because of how surreal everything has been, in the short time since he woke up in the Velvet Room, but he can't quite find it in himself to be more than mildly suspicious of them. He can’t even begin to muster the energy needed for his usual level of paranoia, not when he's so mentally and emotionally fatigued.

And who could blame him? When every time he thinks he's beginning to get a handle on things, something else comes along, kicks him in the ass, and upends his expectations all over again.

The very fact that he's sitting down again with the Phantom Thieves in Leblanc (specifically, when it's without the unifying force of an impending palace deadline looming over them) is a perfect case in point, and probably ranks somewhere in the middle on the list of bizarre things that Goro thought would presumably never happen. Not because it had ever seemed especially likely, mind you, but more because its competitors (Ren returning his feelings in any shape or form, the persistent content undercurrent to his mood that he’s beginning to suspect may actually be something like happiness, or, you know, _being alive_ ) were all so ridiculous that this little gathering seems almost run-of-the-mill by comparison.

He's still trying to figure out how to engage with other people while he isn't simultaneously also trying to pull the wool over their eyes – an undertone of deception has become almost integral to his interactions with other people, and if he's being honest, it's also something that he's always derived a kind of enjoyment from. The rush of having some secret, safely tucked away in his chest, while he put on a shiny performance for whomever he was dealing with at the time. Whether it had been interviewers, classmates, Shido, the Phantom Thieves... _Ren_.

Something that would let him kid himself that he had the upper hand, even when he very much did not.

Unfortunately, this particular subset of people have already seen under his usual go-to façade (and called him out on it immediately, when he tried to hide behind it again, which was just fucking _rude_ , if you ask Goro), and that made it harder than they might have been, under different circumstances, to keep things together. 

At least in January he'd been keeping the fact that he was dead (well, not really, but he'd had no way of knowing that at the time, did he?) from them, and that was a nice little diversion, something for him to focus on – instead of acknowledging that he does not know what the fuck he's doing when it comes to actually speaking with his... _peers_. 

It’s not as if he’d been given the opportunity to speak to them in some low stakes situation either, no, he’d had to flex all of those atrophied social muscles while he regaled them with stories about just how much of a _fuckup_ he is. And the more that he spoke, the more that his control of the situation (and the specific words leaving his mouth), started to feel tenuous at best. 

Still, he thinks that he was doing a _passable_ job of it, all things considered, right up until he was forced to remember the expression on Wakaba Isshiki’s (or rather, her shadow's) face when he’d landed the final blow. All confused dismay and wide, yellow eyes, as she pulled uselessly at the hilt of the toy sabre lodged in her chest – his first sword – a cheap, plastic thing with a collapsible blade, made strong and sharp only through the power of sheer belief. Nothing could have prepared him for the way that it went through her though, like a hot knife through butter, when only seconds before it had been barely scratching the surface of the monstrous form she’d twisted herself into. A massive sarcophagus shadow that shrugged off Robin Hood's bless damage and soaked up Loki's curse skills like they were nothing, he’s never seen a shadow quite like it again since, not in any palace, or on any of the floors of Mementos.

He'd only managed to defeat her by the skin of his teeth, and he'd been so keyed up – so _terrified_ , that he didn't even fully register when she'd shrunk back down into a more human form, not until he'd already skewered her on his blade.

Goro remembers holding his hands up and backing away from her, crying pathetically and babbling some nonsense apology, as if he could take it all back. She’d looked up to meet his eyes then, one last time, still seeming more perplexed by what had happened than anything else. Then she’d just... _disintegrated_ , into an anticlimactic cloud of black particles, and his sword had fallen to the ground with a hollow clatter. 

It’s something that he tries to avoid thinking about, for obvious reasons, along with the lengthy and spectacular panic attack that he’d had immediately afterwards. But if having to recall (and try to put into words) what happened with Isshiki was bad, then realising that Futaba Sakura was watching him with the exact same shocked and slightly wounded expression on her face, was even worse. He'd never noticed just how much she’s the spitting image of her mother, and there was a gut churning moment where he was _almost convinced_ that the big, wet eyes blinking owlishly at him from behind her glasses were a bright sunflower yellow, instead of the mauve-brown that he knows they are in reality. 

So, maybe things came out a little more honest, and a little more _visceral_ than he might have liked, as he tried to explain things to them. He feels that he could be forgiven, for being a little sloppy (if nothing else), it's not as if he'd ever really spoken about any of it out loud before – not in its entirety, at least.

Goro exhales slowly and clenches his fists on the bar, trying to resist the urge to bite his nails, as he thinks again of their well-meaning attempts to step into his shoes and see things from his perspective. It makes him feel strange. He's used to framing the differences in their circumstances in a distinctly bitter light, always in terms of what they had received that he hadn't, and it’s disorienting to have it turned around on him and used as something that they can actually use to relate to each other instead.

There has long been a deep melancholy inside of him (along with a vehement and _poisonous_ jealousy), whenever he’s around the Phantom Thieves for any extended period of time – maybe it’s something as simple as a desire to be able to wind back the clock and join them under more conventional circumstances, even if he still doesn't entirely agree with their methods. They had offered him a version of it in the engine room, after all, before his cognitive double had turned up and forced his hand, and he'd also had a small taste of it by fighting alongside them in Maruki's palace… but it wasn’t something that he thought he’d ever actually be able to _have_. 

The idea that there could be a place for him here, or anywhere, even after everything that he's done, is overwhelming. And he thinks that, if it wasn’t for his new _relationship_ (they still haven't put a name on it. Goro isn't sure if that's a bad thing or a good thing) with Ren, that he might even have rebuffed them out of reflex, or simple wariness. He’s quickly realising just how much the fledgling bond with Ren feels like a lifeline, or an anchor. Something that makes him think that maybe it wouldn't be so dangerous, or terrible, to actually let other people get close.

So he’d done his part, reached out and accepted their olive branch, before steeling his nerves, and thanking them for it. He’d even managed to apologise without putting his foot _squarely_ into his mouth. Although it was, perhaps, a little closer than he’d like. Because while he _is_ sorry for everything he’s done to hurt the individuals in this room, he does not necessarily regret what happened to some of his more unpleasant victims. Kunikazu Okumura included. Goro doubts that clarifying his position on the matter would have been well-received.

Then, Niijima finally brought up the change in the nature of his relationship with Ren, and not one of them had looked especially surprised, but he supposes, that between Sakura’s obvious allusions to it in the group chat this morning and Ren’s maddeningly confident displays of physical affection, they would have to be blind and incredibly dim to have not noticed that _something_ was going on. And once it was made clear that they all _knew_ , he was subjected to a nauseating (but, yes, okay, not _entirely_ awful) procession of hugs and general good will, and he’d been entirely _confounded_ all over again.

Sakura and Ren both emerge from the kitchen, and Goro’s stomach does an unpleasant flip as he’s pulled, kicking and screaming, from the refuge of his thoughts. Sakura is holding two plates, and Ren, being his usual show-off self, is carrying four, one in each hand and another pair resting precariously on his forearms. On closer inspection, Goro realises that he also has a small saucer tucked into the crook of his elbow, presumably with something on it for Morgana. 

He makes it look effortless, and Goro can’t decide if he’s more annoyed or enamoured by Ren’s ridiculous balancing act. 

After they’ve delivered their volatile cargo to the crowd of teenagers (and one cat) in the booth, and they finish waving off the veritable cacophony of ‘thank you’s that’s bound to accompany a mountain of free food – Ren makes to turn back towards the kitchen, but not before he stops and catches Goro’s eye, dropping him a cheeky little wink.

“Yours is coming right up, Goro, don’t worry."

 _Insufferable_.

Goro wishes that he had something to hand to throw at his cocky face – but, alas, the napkins beside him aren't aerodynamic enough to cross the distance, and he feels that he might be _really_ testing Sakura’s hospitality if he were to lob his coffee cup across the bar. 

“I can hardly wait,” he replies instead, smoothly, and he smiles like he isn’t currently being crushed under the weight of the impending consequences of his own rash decision. Which, at least, comes easily. It’s something that he’s had a lot of practice with, after all.

Ren doesn’t take _nearly_ long enough in the kitchen before he reappears, and makes his way back to his stool to set down two steaming servings of curry on the bar.

Goro peers down at his plate with a sickly mixture of dread and suspicion.

It certainly doesn’t _look_ any different from Sakura’s usual curry (which he’s only had once or twice, and while it wasn’t exactly his cup of tea, it _was_ at least edible), but he supposes that he was being foolish for expecting any different... it isn’t as if it would actually be glowing red, or smoking ominously – signalling its spiciness in some ridiculously cartoonish way. 

He narrows his eyes and sniffs, the smell of it might be a little more acrid than he’s used to, but that could also just be his nerves getting the better of him.

Well, he thinks (pointedly ignoring the way that Ren is watching him expectantly from the corner of his eye), there’s no point in delaying the inevitable.

Goro swallows his trepidation and reaches out to pick up his spoon, scooping up a generous amount of rice to go with the curry, in the hopes that it might help to temper any... unpleasantness lurking in the sauce.

He can _feel_ the eyes on him as he puts it into his mouth.

The first couple of seconds are deceptively underwhelming, the flavour is fruity and slightly tart, not dissimilar to the curry that he’s had here before, and he’s even allowing himself to appreciate the texture and tenderness of the beef when the pain kicks in. 

And, _fuck_! His mouth feels like it’s on _motherfucking_ _fire_! 

Sweat is breaking out in little beads along his hairline, as wave after wave of terrible prickling heat ravages the tender flesh of his tongue, the inside of his cheeks, and the back of his nose – like he’d just bitten into a mouthful of wasps, or fire ants, instead of an innocuous looking spoonful of curry.

He starts to blink away the water in his eyes, but then thinks better of it (because what if a tear slips free and it looks like he’s actually _crying_?), and he grabs a napkin to dab surreptitiously at his eyes and nose (which is also beginning to run. _Fantastic_!), as he forces himself to swallow. There’s no grace period when he puts the second spoonful in his mouth either, the burning pain is immediate and intense this time, and he supposes that _that_ probably has something to do with his unfortunate taste buds being scorched to within an inch of their lives, by the culinary equivalent of an Agidyne.

There is a silver lining, though, because while this curry _is_ hot, it’s becoming rapidly apparent that it’s _nowhere near_ Shujin-Culture-Festival-Takoyaki hot. Which, at the very least, means that he won’t be having to run to the nearest bathroom just to preserve what remains of his dignity.

It hurts, it does, but he’s had to endure far worse. He focuses on the _mechanics_ of what he’s doing, instead of the pain, and it becomes easier. Marginally. Just chew, swallow, discretely wipe away any erstwhile liquid that tries to make a break for it from his eyes or his nose – rinse and repeat.

It’s not long before he notices that Ren isn’t even trying to hide it anymore, and is openly staring at him, looking equal parts amused and concerned as Goro robotically shoves spoonful number six into his mouth. He realises that the other Phantom Thieves have all gone very quiet as well, and he’s sure that if he were to turn and look at them, that he’d catch them gawking too.

His suspicions are immediately confirmed when Sakamoto snickers and does that thing where he speaks at a normal volume but obviously thinks that he’s whispering. “ _He looks like he’s about two seconds away from havin’ smoke comin’ outta his ears, right?_ ”

He hears Futaba Sakura laugh at that, and then the sound of Takamaki trying to hide her own tittering behind a _painfully_ fake cough.

And under more normal circumstances, ones where Goro didn’t feel like his head was being _fucking fried_ , he might have been able to come up with a suitably witty and scathing reply.

“Eat _shit_ , Sakamoto,” is what he sneers instead, and then winces, both at how raspy his voice comes out, and because of how _stupidly petulant_ that comeback (if it could even be called that) sounds.

He’s expecting an angry outburst in response, but Sakamoto just makes an indignant squawking noise before there’s laughter again, louder, and more open this time – Ren joining in with his friends. His gut reaction is to assume that they’re making fun of him, and Goro bristles in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek until the metallic twang of blood joins the miasma of spice flooding his senses.

It hardly registers, though, because the only taste in his mouth now is something sharp and bitter.

Ren reaches out and squeezes his hand, and Goro starts a little at the contact, before he drags his eyes up from the plate to meet the other boy’s gaze. Ren _does_ look amused, but the smile on his face and the twinkle in his eye don’t _seem_ mean-spirited – and Goro knows, logically, that a little teasing is normal between… _friends_. 

There’s a thunk on the bar then, and Goro nearly jumps again, as Sojiro Sakura sets a glass of milk down in front of him. “Here, Kid, drink up. You look like you could use it.”

There’s a complicated and confusingly warm feeling in his chest that has nothing to do with the heat of the curry.

It takes him a second to recognise that it’s because Sakura just referred to him as ‘Kid’ in that brusquely kind tone that he usually reserves for when he’s talking to Ren, or one of the many other teenagers here that he’s decided to take under his wing.

Goro’s brain stutters and screeches to a halt at the realisation, and he rushes to compartmentalise it away, crushing it into a tiny ball and throwing it into some distant part of his mind, where he won't have to examine it. He mutters his thanks, awkwardly, and reaches for the glass of milk. 

The first sip is like a balm on the abused interior of his mouth, cool and soothing, and it takes a not-inconsiderable amount of willpower to drink at a normal pace, rather than just gulp down the entire thing in seconds and make himself look even more foolish than he already has.

“I think,” Ren starts, and there’s still an undercurrent of mirth in his voice, but he’s also rubbing a distractingly pleasant circle on the back of his hand with his thumb, so Goro decides not to hold it against him, “you’ve made your point.”

They both know – hell, probably every single person in the room knows, that he didn’t really _have_ a point to begin with (he’d just jumped the second he’d seen even a glimpse of challenge in the quirk of Ren’s lips, like an idiot), but he recognises the graceful ‘out’ that he’s being offered, and he takes it, gladly.

“I suppose I have,” he says, and pushes the plate away from him slightly. The curry is only about a third gone, and the idea of trying to choke down the rest of it in a renewed bout of stubbornness is _extremely_ unappealing.

“So, Akechi-” Sakura starts, clearing his throat as he leans forward to pick up Goro’s plate, although he doesn’t make any move to bring it back to the kitchen, “what are you planning on doing now?”

Goro can almost hear the record scratch as the atmosphere shifts abruptly back to something tense. Without meaning to, he finds his eyes sliding to meet Ren’s, whose expression has turned solemn, all and any trace of his earlier amusement chased away by the reality of the situation.

He twists in his seat so that he’s facing Ren properly, their knees bump against each other, and he spares a fleeting moment to appreciate the way they instinctively slot their legs together – instead of awkwardly trying to make room for each other.

“I’m going to turn myself in, of course,” Goro says, carefully, and Ren flinches like he’s been slapped.

Fuck.

This _really_ isn't how he wanted to do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently replayed the part of the game when Akechi steals the Russian Takoyaki, and I was reminded of just how much I enjoy the idea of him suffering through the spiciness. 
> 
> Maybe that's just me, ha.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks, my dudes! 💕
> 
> We're doing that thing that I love, and I hope that you guys don't _hate_ , where I go back over a previous scene from a different perspective. I usually prefer to summarise dialogue that I've already written in a previous chapter, but there's a chunky bit that I had to copy paste here, because I was worried that things would feel inorganic without it. So if you start thinking that there's a paragraph, or two, that look familiar... that's because they, uh, _are_. 😅
> 
> There's a content warning for some pretty mild horror in this chapter, honestly it's no worse than what's actually in the game, but I figured I'd still mention it, just in case.

Haru Okumura is dwarfed by the too-big couch, in the too-big living room, of her too-big and far too empty home. The television is on, commercials filling the otherwise unbearable quiet, and the white noise they provide is added to by the fireplace (real, not electric – her father had _insisted_ ), where kindling crackles softly as it burns.

The sun is low and bright, streaming through the large bay window to her left, but there's no heat in it, and she can see the light dusting of snow on the grass in the garden. She's sure that if she were to go outside and check, she would find that the shallow pool of water in the stone birdbath is frozen over too. 

At a glance, she can tell that her flower beds are dormant and lifeless, the soil frosty and hard, months away from playing host to the first green shoots of Spring.

Wait...

She frowns, and shakes her head.

Something doesn't feel right.

Because she's been tending the new growth in her garden for _weeks_ now, hasn't she?

It's far too cold out there for it to be late March, like she _knows_ it is, too cold even for February, and – as if to confirm her suspicions – a tinkly, festive version of the Junes jingle plays over an advertisement on the television.

Oh.

Apparently it's December again.

Is this a dream?

A memory?

Both?

Haru's hands flex in her lap, where they're clutching a slightly damp handkerchief, as if she had been crying.

It's another piece of the puzzle, and it places this dream somewhere in the first half of December, specifically, when she'd been having an especially hard time.

In reality – in the springtime after the winter where she and her friends defeated the man responsible for her father's death, and then went on to save the world twice over – she's still in mourning. She knows that she'll probably never be truly done, really, that she'll spend the rest of her life grieving for her father, as well as for all of the people that he hurt with his single-minded ambition… 

And perhaps it's selfish – but more than anything else, when it comes to her father, she's grieving for the second chance that she'd hoped to have with him after his change of heart.

That wound had been far more fresh in December – had barely started to heal at all, but truthfully, that wasn't the only reason that she had been crying, was it?

The girl that had sat in this spot, on this couch, and cried these tears, may still be raw from the loss of her father – but she's also dealing with the sting of rejection, and embarrassment, after she had gathered up every scrap of courage that she had, and tried to tell Ren how she felt about him.

And maybe she hadn't been able to come right out and say it, technically – using President Takakura’s assumptions about their relationship as a starting point, instead of taking time to plan a proper confession. Ren had obviously still understood what she was driving at though, because why else would he have become so evasive? An awkward (but kind, because Ren has _always_ been kind to her) sadness in his eyes as he sidestepped her clumsy hints with the kind of grace she'd come to expect from him – both in the metaverse, and in the insightful way he'd been helping her navigate the viper's nest that was her father's business.

Yes, she's almost positive now, this memory – or this dream, is taking place on the twelfth of December. Only a handful of days after Ren made it clear that her love was unrequited, and precisely one day before they went into Shido's palace to acquire the last letter of introduction. 

Which, of course, also happened to be the day before Akechi confronted them in the engine room, tried to kill them, and then proceeded to sacrificed himself for them. All in the space of about twenty minutes.

That was when Haru had gotten her first real inkling, that first little spark of clarity, as she watched Ren almost collapse in front of the closed bulkhead door, and saw the unshed tears in his eyes when they turned to flee – that maybe the reason that he hadn't been able to return her feelings, was because he was already in love with someone else. 

Ren is the best of them – out of all of the Phantom Thieves, he's the kindest and the strongest, he's always been their rock, their port in a storm, the shoulder they cry on when the world is unkind to them.

It's a rare thing, to see Ren let himself be anything other than that, anything other than their reliable leader. 

To allow himself to be _vulnerable_. 

So if she'd had any doubts about the fact that Akechi was the one, out of all of them, that Ren had fallen for… well, they were well and truly dispelled when he'd broken down in February – fresh out of juvenile detention, and at nothing more than the mere mention of the other boy's name.

The commercials end, and Haru looks up just as the room is filled with the excited chatter of the cheerful host of one of _those_ talk shows, the kind of celebrity gossip ones that her mother used to love so much. 

Haru knows that she's not watching it out of a sense of nostalgia, or sentiment. 

No, she's only sitting here and watching it because Goro Akechi is the guest. It’s how she’s so sure of the date, she’d made it her own little mission to watch all of his appearances after the twentieth of November, watching carefully for any sign that he’d realised they’d tricked him.

And in this dream, just as she had in reality, she listens to him talk about how instrumental he was, in capturing and arresting the leader of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Unlike when this happened in reality though, she has no rush of vindication for knowing that Ren is safe at home.

It's harder to paint the boy on the screen as a villain when she knows everything she knows now. 

About Akechi himself, and about Ren's feelings for him.

The audience 'oooh' and 'aaah', in all the right places, before he silences them with a raised hand. She watches, as he folds his hands neatly in his lap (almost mirroring her own position exactly), and twists his face into an unnervingly convincing show of sympathy.

"I only wish that I could have stopped them before so many people were hurt or ki-"

He stops abruptly, stricken, his expression suddenly forced into something sincere by sheer animal panic. Goosebumps prickle over Haru's skin at the sudden deviation from real-life events, and her stomach lurches as his pretty eyes roll back into their sockets, leaving only the whites visible. Thick, black fluid bubbles up from between his lips, and runs from his tear ducts in a steady stream, as he scrabbles at his throat with clawed fingers that leave angry red welts in their wake.

Haru sits, frozen in place, simultaneously on the couch in her living room and standing in Destiny Land, watching both this talk show and her father’s press conference. It all begins to blur as Akechi chokes and drowns on live television, until the front of his shirt and blazer are soaked through with that tar-like gunge… until he has nothing left, and he slumps sideways in his seat, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Akechi convulses once, twice, before he goes very still. 

The host and the audience are clapping and laughing, like he just told an especially charming joke. 

Haru’s eyes well up and her eyelids flutter several times, rapidly – as if doing so could make the horrific image in front of her disappear, but all that it really achieves is dislodging one of the tears that’s obscuring her vision, and it slips down the side of her nose to pool uncomfortably in the corner of her mouth. Without really thinking about it, she brings her handkerchief up to her face, dabbing carefully and gently at the wet trail there, being mindful of her make-up.

Father didn't pay all that money for her to go to finishing school, just for her to start being sloppy now, after all.

Her stomach flip-flops again.

It seems as if she's unable to escape his expectations for her, even in her own dreams.

The hysterical laugh that twists her mouth and squirms in her lungs dies before it can escape her throat – because the handkerchief comes away from her face sticky and stained, a pitch black smear of the same viscous liquid that she just saw erupt from the boy on the screen stands out in a stark contrast against the white fabric.

Eyebrows knitted together, she blinks in disbelief, and another inky drop lands just below the streak, making it look like an exclamation point – an accusation.

She blinks again and _everything_ turns black.

Haru jolts awake in her bed, rocketing up into a sitting position and kicking out wildly. There's bile in her throat, and (blessedly normal) tears on her cheeks, as she wrenches herself free of the blankets tangled around her legs to stumble into her ensuite.

She's not sure how long she stays there, sitting on the tiled floor, slumped over the toilet, her silk pyjamas doing nothing to protect her from the cold seeping into her bones, as she hyperventilates and waits for a surge of vomit that never comes.

Which is just as well, because some panicked, irrational part of her brain is convinced that it would come up thick and black.

When she's collected herself enough to actually try and think straight again – when she doesn't feel like her consciousness is like a balloon filled with helium that's only loosely tethered to her body, she lifts one shaky and heavy-feeling arm to check the watch on her wrist.

It's just shy of seven a.m.

She supposes that she should probably get up and start the day, because even though there's no school today, there's no way she's getting back into bed now, with the spectre of that nightmare still hanging over her.

Back in her room, her eyes land on her bedside table, where her phone is still plugged in, and she sees that there's a notification light blinking on it, which isn't unusual. She's used to waking up to a slew of messages in the group chat she shares with her friends, eccentric arguments between Futaba and Yusuke at odd hours, sometimes joined by Ryuji when he's up early for a run.

Seeing her friends talking and joking together feels like just the thing to help her feel a little more normal again, and she makes a beeline for her phone, sitting down on the edge of her bed as she unplugs it and turns on the screen.

Even just the sight of her lockscreen helps to lift her spirits, it's a picture of all of them in Ren's room, crammed onto and around his small couch. Ann is in the centre, her arm extended upwards, so she can hold Haru's phone above them – happily having taken over as photographer when Haru couldn't quite squeeze all nine of them into the frame. It's still a close thing, even with Ann's selfie-expertise, some of their faces are cut-off slightly, and Haru can see the way that Ryuji is half laughing, half wincing where one of Futaba's elbows is, no doubt, buried somewhere in his ribs.

Everyone looks so happy.

It's hard to believe that today is Ren's last full day in Tokyo.

Haru runs the pad of her thumb over where he is in the picture, squashed right up beside Ann, with Yusuke looming behind him and Mona perched on his shoulder. There is still a slightly painful tug in her chest when she looks at Ren, and at the small smile on his handsome face, but it's getting better, more and more each day. 

Her eyes linger on him for another second before she keys in her passcode, and the picture disappears. 

The screen flickers and stutters strangely, before her messaging app opens without her touching the icon. Haru has a panicky moment where she's worried that she's somehow done _something_ to break it, but then Futaba's Alibaba avatar (the funny little cat-bomb with the toothy grin) pops up in the centre of the screen, with a small loading bar underneath it.

Haru sighs in relief.

But when the screen returns to normal, she realises that whatever Futaba did, she made it so Haru can’t open any chat threads, or even back out of the app, and she starts tapping aimlessly around the screen, trying to get _any_ response. Nothing seems to work, and she’s just starting to get properly frustrated, when a new thread opens by itself – it’s definitely from Futaba, but the chat window looks strange, and the date and time fields are blank.

**-Alibaba-**

**00/00/0000**

**0:00**

> **Alibaba:** hi Haru!
> 
> **Alibaba:** sorry 4 hijacking ur phone like this
> 
> (￣▽￣*)ゞ
> 
> **Alibaba:** u need a heads up about something that happened last nite
> 
> **Alibaba:** theres no easy way to say it
> 
> **Alibaba:** so maybe sit down
> 
> **Alibaba:** and ill just infodump

Haru’s heart is suddenly in her throat, a plethora of awful ‘ _maybe_ ’s flying through her head, as she swallows and keeps reading.

> **Alibaba:** so...
> 
> **Alibaba:** sum weird velvet room stuff happened
> 
> (/￣ー￣)/~~☆’.･.･:★’.･.･:☆
> 
> **Alibaba:** and turns out that Akechi isnt dead
> 
> **Alibaba:** hes back
> 
> **Alibaba:** again

She doesn’t know _what_ she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t _that_ … She just stares at the screen for a second, rereading the words over and over again, in the hope that they'll start to actually make sense. 

Because what are the chances that something like this would happen when she just woke up from that _awful_ dream? 

> **Alibaba:** were all talking about it in the nov group chat
> 
> **Alibaba:** he just messaged us out of nowhere
> 
> **Alibaba:** at like 5 am…
> 
> **Alibaba:** so i had 2 get ahead of it
> 
> **Alibaba:** and warn u
> 
> **Alibaba:** take ur time
> 
> **Alibaba:** but wen ur ready click the link at the bottom
> 
> **Alibaba:** itll unlock ur phone again
> 
> **Alibaba:** and Haru…
> 
> **Alibaba:** hmu if u need 2 talk

There’s a couple of seconds, where she’s tempted to just turn the phone off entirely, and go back to sleep after all, but she takes a deep breath, exhales slowly and starts typing. She tries to reply first, but her ‘ _thank you, Futaba-chan_ ’ won’t send, and she just gets an error message that says that the number she’s trying to contact doesn’t exist.

There’s no delaying it then, she supposes, so she takes another deep breath, for good measure, and taps the link before she can think better of it. 

Her screen flickers again – the way it did earlier, then the Alibaba chat disappears, and her phone really does go back to normal.

And sure enough, just like Futaba said, she has notifications for their group chat from November – she can see that new replies are still coming in, in fact, and knowing that her friends are in there now, talking amongst themselves, gives her the courage to open it and scroll upwards, until she finds the first unread reply.

**-Casino Heist 🃏 Jokers are Wild-**

**19/03/2017**

**5:43 a.m.**

> **Akechi:** Thank you.

Obviously, Futaba told her that he was back, but she wasn’t really prepared for the proof of it, staring her right in the face, and it takes her longer than it probably should have, for her to register that she’s crying again. She hadn’t noticed at all, despite how blurry her vision has gone, until a big, fat tear lands right in the middle of the screen. Followed by another, and then another, until the droplets start to confuse the touch screen when she tries to scroll down. She wipes at them with the cuff of her sleeve, drying it as best she can, before doing the same to her wet face and eyes.

She can’t help but frown at how badly her hands are trembling.

Haru’s not even really sure why she’s so shaken, because in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t really that strange compared to some of the other experiences she’s had, in the six-odd months that she’s been a Phantom Thief. 

It’s only when she looks back to the screen and starts trying to read again, that she realises that a large part of the emotional turmoil inside of her is _relief,_ of all things. Which, maybe it’s because she’s just woken from a truly horrific nightmare where she had a front row seat to Akechi dying _horribly_ … but she really is just genuinely _so relieved_ that he’s actually _alive_.

And she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to feel about that.

At all.

Only that it almost feels like a betrayal of her father... to be glad that the boy who destroyed him is okay – even while she knows, logically, that Shido was his actual murderer. It’s ludicrous, but she just can’t shake the feeling that her father disapproves of how she’s feeling, _somehow_ , to the point that she can almost see his critical expression. The way he used to stare her down when she did, or said something that he was unhappy with – the judgemental set of his jaw as he looked down his nose at her. 

Heat blooms in her chest, and she knows that it’s her persona – Lucy, flaring up at the very thought.

_No._

It doesn’t matter what Father would have said, or felt, because she will not be made feel guilty, or small, for being kind, or trying to be a good person.

Never again.

Haru reads through the rest of the messages, eyebrows going up in surprise, when she sees that most of her friends had dreams about Akechi last night too (none seem to have been as unpleasant as hers though, thankfully), and the only one that didn’t (Futaba) had at least been thinking of him. She finds herself nodding along when Makoto puts forward her ideas about ‘actualisation’, and with Futaba’s efforts to make it easier for everyone to understand.

She’s caught up on the chat now, there are no unread replies left, and she can’t help but notice that Akechi hasn’t reappeared, not once, and that Ren has been absent from the chat entirely… Although Haru knows him well enough to know that that probably has more to do with the early hour, rather than anything else.

Yusuke and Ann obviously appreciate Futaba’s explanation, and when Ryuji starts replying as well, Haru assumes, at first, that he’s just doing the same, but he asks a question that prompts Futaba to share a little more information about Ren's circumstances than she has so far.

> **Ryuji:** i think i get it
> 
> **Ryuji:** kinda
> 
> **Ryuji:** but like
> 
> **Ryuji:** Akechi just appeared in leblanc right?
> 
> **Ryuji:** is Ren ok?
> 
> **Futaba:** ∠( ᐛ 」∠)_
> 
> **Ryuji:** huh?
> 
> **Futaba:** Ren is fine 
> 
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Haru goes very still, trepidation prickling through her as she holds her breath. 

> **Makoto:** That's a relief.
> 
> **Ann:** Oh, Ren is fine? 👀
> 
> **Futaba:** Ann gets me

The air in Haru’s lungs rushes out all at once, in a shaky rattle that’s only a stone’s throw away from a sob, and her eyes are watering _again_. 

She has the presence of mind to be angry with herself, because she loves Ren, _deeply_ , but not _selfishly_ – and she _is_ happy for him. But the thing is, it just also happens to feel like someone has reached into her chest and has her heart in a vice grip.

The messages keep coming, so Haru sniffles and wipes at her eyes again (more roughly this time), and does her best to focus on them, instead of her bruised feelings.

> **Yusuke:** What is there to get?
> 
> **Ryuji:** yeah im lost
> 
> **Makoto:** I'm not sure that I understand what you're referring to either.
> 
> **Ann:** It's not for us to say 😅

“Oh, _Mako-chan_ …” she whispers to herself, with a small but genuine laugh, and even if it does come out sounding wet and somewhat deflated, it gives her the push to put on a brave face (so to speak) and actually type a reply of her own.

> **Haru:** Good morning! 💕
> 
> **Haru:** Thank you, Futaba-chan, and everyone.
> 
> **Haru:** For worrying about me.
> 
> **Haru:** It was certainly a shock.
> 
> **Haru:** But maybe less of a shock than it would have been if this was the first time that Akechi-kun reappeared after we thought that he had died?
> 
> **Futaba:** thats fair
> 
> **Haru:** Of course, I'm still not sure how I feel about it.
> 
> **Haru:** But I am glad that Akechi-kun is alive, and I'm very happy for Ren-kun if he and Akechi-kun have finally "resolved their differences".
> 
> **Haru:** Especially since he's going home so soon.

And as she hits ‘send’ on that last line, she finds that everything that she said really does ring true, that under all of the sadness and the pain, she is honestly overjoyed on Ren’s behalf. That at the end of the day, the most that she could ever really want – if they can’t be together – is for the one she loves to be happy.

Maybe there’s something freeing in it too, to not be clutching at that frayed thread of hope forever... wishing for a day when Ren stops waiting for a ghost, and might finally look her way.

The chat dissolves into them all checking in with her, in their own ways, to make sure that she’s okay. They, of course, are worried about her because of what happened to her father, but that’s something that she’s _mostly_ made her peace with – especially after January. There was something about getting her father back, losing him all over again, and then having to fight side-by-side with Akechi, that had made her have to come to terms with her feelings on the matter rather quickly.

They don’t know what’s _really_ bothering her, because Haru has never spoken to any of them about her feelings for Ren, not even Makoto... and, really, what would have been the point? When so many of them were probably in the same boat?

She’s certainly in no rush to tell them about that terrible dream either.

So – she does her best to assure them that she’s going to be fine, and eventually the conversation shifts. First to arranging a meetup in Leblanc just before lunchtime, and then to Futaba teasing Ryuji about his efforts to spend time with Makoto. Haru wonders if she should pull her best friend aside and tell her outright that Ryuji quite clearly likes her, or if she should go to Ryuji instead and tell him to be more direct – because Makoto is the smartest person that Haru knows, but she can also be so incredibly _dense_ sometimes.

And, if nothing else, trying to figure out how to help her friends is a pleasant distraction from her own issues. It makes her wonder if she might have that in common with Ren.

She excuses herself from the chat, once she’s satisfied that _they’re_ satisfied, and gets started on her morning routine.

It all passes in a bit of a haze, honestly, as she eats a breakfast that she hardly even tastes (of course, she doesn’t tell the housekeeper that, and makes sure to thank her for preparing such a delicious meal), and she spends most of her shower, and the time it takes to water her plants, running through what she wants to say to Akechi when she actually sees him. 

She’s still turning the speech over and over in her mind when her driver leaves her at the train station in Yongen-Jaya, where she’s supposed to meet up with the others, so that they can all walk to Leblanc together. She stops to double-check her face in her compact mirror (her eyes are still a bit red, but there’s not much she can do about that, unfortunately), before she heads inside to find her friends.

It’s not hard to spot them, where they’re waiting over by the vending machines, the station isn’t especially busy, but their group always sticks out like a sore thumb anyway, even in crowded places.

Ann catches sight of her first and Haru waves to her as she makes her way over to the rest of the group.

“Haru!” Ann cries, raising a hand to wave back, although her cheery smile turns stiff around the edges when she gets a proper look at her.

Goodness, is it really that obvious?

She’s quickly realising that she wasn’t quite prepared for how much harder it was going to be to convince them that she’s okay when she has to actually look them all in the eye, rather than just reassuring them through text.

Ryuji shuffles awkwardly, and scratches at the back of his neck. “Mornin’ Haru.”

“Ah!” Yusuke jolts and turns from where he was examining something in one of the vending machines. “Greetings, Haru.”

“Good morning, everyone.” 

“Haru…” Makoto starts, reaching out to take her hand, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Mako-chan,” she replies, squeezing Makoto’s hand for emphasis. She doesn’t look convinced, none of them do, but Haru just smiles through it and pushes on. “Really – I promise.”

Makoto’s expression is tight and pinched with worry. “If you’re sure…”

“I am,” Haru says, and it comes out clear and strong, because she _is_ sure that this is something that she wants to do. That she _needs_ to do. “Shall we go?”

Haru is worried, for a second, that they’re all going to double down and really try to convince her to sit it out anyway – but the moment passes, and they all leave the station together. While Haru is confident in her decision, she still appreciates the way that Makoto and Ryuji flank her protectively while they walk, and the way that Ann and Yusuke walk slightly ahead, as if they’re scouting for enemies in the metaverse.

She knows that some people might feel offended, or like they’re being coddled, by being treated this way, but Haru knows that it’s coming from a place of love. She’s just happy and grateful to have friends that care about her so much, it really isn’t that long ago that she’d had nothing more than acquaintances, after all – hand selected by her father as being ‘suitable’. Which usually just meant that they were people with connections that he was interested in, such as the daughter of a businessman, or the son of a politician… Sugimura’s leering face flashes through her mind, and Haru has to repress a shiver.

It’s a bit of a squeeze, fitting through Leblanc’s doorway with Makoto and Ryuji still glued to her on either side, but they manage it, somehow – although it does put her in the unfortunate position of being made very aware of the fact that they’ve both been on a run this morning, and haven’t yet had a chance to shower. Being boxed in as she is, distracted by her slightly smelly friends, and stuck behind Ann and Yusuke (neither of whom could be considered short), means that she doesn’t actually realise that Akechi is sitting at the bar, almost directly in front of them, until Ann moves just enough for her to catch a glimpse of him.

The sight of him is a shock to her system, like she just had a cold drink thrown in her face, and she might have actually recoiled if she had the room for it.

It’s another thing that she wasn’t really prepared for how much more difficult it would be in person, because seeing him in the flesh is one thing, but seeing him dishevelled and wearing Ren’s clothes is _something else entirely._ It’s like the start of her dream again, the sorrow of her father’s loss mixing into an unpleasantly bitter cocktail with the heartache of having what she can never hope to have rubbed in her face – and she can’t even be angry about it, because it _hurts_ , but she still can’t find it in herself to truly blame Akechi for any of it.

Sometimes she thinks that being petty might be easier.

Ren comes out of the kitchen, smiling maybe a little _too wide_ , clearly nervous, but that isn’t what Haru focuses on. It’s the fact that under all that anxious energy, he’s nearly _glowing_ ,and that makes the painful knot in her chest ease slightly.

Things get off to a slightly rocky start, when she slides into the booth to sit down across from Futaba, and the rest of them decide to come with her, leaving them all cramped and miserable in addition to the oppressive (but not unexpected) silence. It’s not hopeless though, because between Akechi and Makoto (the only people here with any real public speaking experience), the conversation does actually get going, eventually, even if that awkward silence is almost like another person in the room, waiting patiently to take its turn again. 

Haru keeps her eyes on the table in front of her, while the others ask questions and Akechi answers, trying not to think about how much it’s like an interview, and what happened the last time she saw him give one... even if it _was_ just a dream. 

Truthfully, she doesn’t even really have any great need to hear what he has to say, because hearing what he had to say in the engine room, and speaking with Shido’s shadow before their battle, had told her everything she needed to know about his circumstances. 

She doesn’t _need_ the specifics to know what it’s like to have to twist yourself into something you’re not, breaking and reshaping every bone in your body until there was almost nothing of you left. All in an attempt to make yourself into someone that could be considered useful, or _valuable,_ because that was all that men like her father, and Shido, really cared about.

Just like she’s far too familiar with how easy it is to convince yourself, as you bend over backwards to be accommodating, that the occasional backhanded compliments and meagre morsels of approval that get thrown your way, are acceptable substitutes for love and affection.

Haru wonders if Yusuke is thinking the same thing.

There’s a lull in the conversation again, after Akechi is apparently finished talking, and Haru looks up just as Ren rises to embrace him. She can see enough of Akechi's face, over Ren's shoulder, to know that he's struggling to keep it together in the face of such an easy and open show of tenderness.

It’s the first time, since all of this started, that she realises that she’s actually happy _for_ Akechi too.

Someone like Ren, who can accept him for who he is, with all of his faults, is exactly what he needs.

And if he is to be an important part of Ren's life, then they'll all need to make a space for him in theirs too. She knows that for some of her friends that that will be easier said than done, Makoto and Ryuji, in particular, are focused entirely on whether his presence in their group is an issue for Futaba and herself.

Futaba, for her part, has already made it clear that she wants to try. Haru supposes that means that it's her turn now.

So she opens her mouth and finally speaks.

“Akechi-kun, before I start, I just want to say that I appreciate your honesty, and that even though I think that everything you did was reprehensible, and I’m not sure if I can ever forgive you, I’ve also come to find your situation somewhat... understandable,” she feels her voice wanting to wobble, so she pauses to take a sip of her coffee. “I’ve had a lot of time to think on it, about what would have happened, if my father ever found out that I had the potential to awaken a persona. And I know – in my heart – that if he could s-sell me off to a _monster_ without batting an eye, then he would have had no issue with forcing me to do exactly what _your_ father was forcing _you_ to do.”

The words leave her in a flood, but thankfully, she’s practised them so much that the basic structure of her speech remains intact, despite her trembling hands, and the inevitable tears that she just _cannot_ seem to shake today.

And, if she derives a little bit of sadistic satisfaction, from how clearly uncomfortable he is with the fact that she empathises with him – well, no one needs to know that, do they?

“I would like to think that I’d have refused, of course, but I can’t really know that, _none_ of us know what we’re truly capable of until we’re pushed – or trapped, and I’m sure that if everyone here were to look inside of themselves, they would be able to admit that they might have made the same decisions that you did, if they had been forced into the same hopeless situation. So, Akechi-kun, I want you to know – even before I heard everything you had to say – that I place the blame for my father’s murder entirely at Shido's feet. And even though, for the longest time, I thought that I should, or that I needed to – I _don’t_ hate you.”

The relief that she feels, for finally getting all of that off her chest, is so overwhelming that if she wasn’t already crying, it probably would have been the thing to set her off. Makoto reaches out to her, and Haru sinks into her arms gratefully, concentrating on the grounding sound of her friend’s steady breathing. 

The rest of them rush to pick up where she left off, and her heart swells with emotion again when she realises that not only do they not have an issue with what she said, they clearly agree with her too.

Everyone says their piece, and Akechi thanks them (presumably for their understanding) and apologises – for the hurt that he caused, and not, Haru notices, for what he's _done_. She finds that there's something about that distinction that she _respects_ , oddly enough.

Then Makoto brings up the fact that Ren and Akechi are clearly involved with each other, romantically, and Haru has an irrational moment where she feels betrayed, of all things. As if Makoto could have been considerate of the feelings that she doesn't know that Haru has.

So she sucks it up, and watches them all offer their good wishes, until it's her turn. Haru is just incredibly grateful that everyone will assume that the way that her voice trembles when she speaks, is because of her father, and not because she's terrified that she's going to burst into tears again over the simple fact that the boy she's in love with is holding someone else's hand.

“I’m overjoyed for the both of you, truly,” she says, and she hopes that they know how much she means it.

When everyone is back in their seats, and lunch is served, she's almost jealous of how easily everyone slips back into their usual friendly banter. She tries to join in, as best she can, and she _does_ get a laugh out of the entire _curry debacle_ , but her heart isn't really in it.

It's been an extremely _trying_ day, after all, and it's only lunchtime.

Maybe that's why she doesn't seem to go through the same emotional whiplash that everyone else does when Akechi drops his little dramatic bomb.

“I’m going to turn myself in, of course.”

She sees the way that Ren goes wide-eyed, mouth dropping open into a little 'o' of surprise, as what was just said sinks in.

And then he just looks _lost_.

For the first time today, Haru feels a bright flash of genuine anger flicker through her, and it’s aimed entirely at Akechi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just end two chapters in a row with the same cliffhanger...? Oops...?
> 
> I promise that it will be addressed in the next update, okay? 😅
> 
> Look, lads, I was stuck, like _really stuck_. I flailed in Frockbot's general direction about it, and she had some great advice for me about switching up my POV, which made me think about Haru, and how I still hadn't written about her Akechi Dream... and then things just kind of spiralled from there, ha.
> 
> Come yell at me on Twitter! @CloudMenaceBird


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much, for all of your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions! They really mean the world to me!
> 
> This chapter was a major pain for me, because I always find it hard to write from Ren's POV (for some reason), and I couldn't think of a way to tackle this chapter without stepping into his shoes. Hopefully it doesn't show!
> 
> Also, it's a small thing, but I'm raging at the fact that, before this update, I was on *exactly* 70,000 words, and now that's spoiled D:

Ren has been having a pretty _weird_ morning so far.

Don't get him wrong, it's also been amazing.

But still... it's uh, _definitely_ been strange.

The thing is – for better or worse, his year in Tokyo has made him pretty familiar with _‘strange’_ by now. He’s also kind of gotten used to it working out in his favour, for the most part, and the last ten hours have been no exception. 

Ren brought Goro back from the Velvet Room (and into his bedroom), and he’s been riding high ever since – like a gambler on a winning streak, feeling blessed and invincible, as the stars seem to go out of their way to align themselves in such a way that everything gets tied up in a neat little bow, in the shortest time possible. 

There was no way, when he was getting ready for bed last night, that he could have ever expected that he was only a handful of hours away from powering through his Goro Akechi related wish list so fast that he’s adding (and crossing off) new items as he goes.

Ren wished that restoring reality hadn't also meant that Goro had to sacrifice himself?

Cross it off.

Ren wished that he could have, personally, had a hand in saving Goro?

Cross that, slightly selfish, one off too.

Ren wished that he had stopped holding himself back, ignored all the potential consequences, and just kissed Goro?

Cross that off, and then scribble down and cross off all of the other stuff they did too, because between handjobs, blowjobs, and the fact that he's currently having to deal with how awkward it is to try and have a conversation with his friends when his ass still feels _really weird_ , after y’know… _the sex_ – it’s probably pretty safe to say that they’ve done a _lot more_ than kiss.

Speaking of his friends... 

Ren had, of course, also wished that he could spend his last day in Tokyo with _all_ of the Phantom Thieves.

And here they all are.

Well.

 _Almost_. 

They’re missing Sumire. Which sucks. Even though she would probably object (very politely) to being called a Phantom Thief, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s definitely earned her place among them. But, hey, nine out of ten Thieves is _miles_ better than only eight, especially when they’d all thought that number nine was _dead_.

So Ren got to watch his friends hash it out with Goro, and things _were_ tense, but they also went surprisingly well. And while he _knew_ that he could count on them (because when have they _ever_ let him down?), he’d still been _stupid_ nervous anyway. 

But things worked out! Somehow! And Ren is over the _freakin’ moon_! If the last year has taught him anything, it's that he has a poor track record with Higher Powers, but he's just so immensely grateful to (the universe, or Igor, or maybe to the god of pure dumb luck) _whoever_ gave him this opportunity. For him to be able to sit here next to Goro, along with so many of the people who are important to him just feels _unreal_. 

To top it all off, things aren't even that awkward anymore, despite everything that’s happened between Goro and the rest of his friends. Everyone is actually kind of gelling, and maybe even starting to have fun together. 

Which, he's sure that watching Goro decide, out of sheer (and predictable) stubbornness, to torture himself with a plate of curry, probably went a long way to smoothing things over. There's nothing like a little low stakes schadenfreude to bring a group together.

But then Ren’s next roll of the dice comes up snake eyes, and he has to accept that his luck has finally run out.

Because he feels like someone kicked the stool right out from under him.

“I’m going to turn myself in, of course.” Goro's tone is steady and calm, casual as anything, as if he hadn't just hit Ren with the verbal equivalent of a kick in the teeth. 

Goro is _so_ collected in fact, that Ren has to assume that he’s already put at least some thought into this… _plan_. Although _when_ exactly he found the time to do that is beyond him. Had Goro stayed up all night thinking about it? Had he been weighing up the pros and cons of giving himself up to the police while they'd been making out, and fooling around?

Why hadn't Ren _noticed_ anything? 

He feels like there's not enough air in his lungs.

Ren opens his mouth, closes it again, and then bites down on his lip to stop himself from continuing on like he’s some fish gasping for air. He ends up just staring down at where his hands are clenched on his thighs, while he struggles to come up with _something_ that might help, _anything_ at all... 

People are always telling him that he’s good at giving advice, right? This shouldn’t be any different, or any more difficult, _right_?

But no matter how hard he tries, there’s just _nothing there_. 

He can’t think of anything. 

And even if he could, what if there’s no magic combination of words that will suddenly make all of this go away?

Maybe if he hadn't been so caught up in the moment, or in ignoring the fact that he was going home tomorrow, he'd have stopped to think about what coming back from the dead actually _meant_ for Goro.

It’s this awful parallel to what happened in the engine room, having all of his friends at his back as he scrambles to try and figure out how to talk Goro down.

And just like in the engine room, he feels like anything he says will be ultimately futile, because Goro's going to do what he thinks is right, regardless.

Ren can feel the others looking to him, can feel Goro’s expectant eyes on him too – everyone is waiting for his reaction, and he’s just sitting here, _floundering_.

“I can contact my sister for you, if you’d like,” Makoto offers, taking the lead, and giving Ren some much-needed time to play 52 pickup with his scattered thoughts.

“I was intending to reach out to Sae-san myself, actually,” Goro replies, almost dismissive, and his eyes only flick in her direction for a second before he goes back to using them to try and drill a hole into Ren's skull. It’s just one more thing that’s making it hard to think clearly. “She’s the only contact I have, from my time working with the prosecutor’s office, that I’m positive has no connection to Shido’s conspiracy.”

“Sis doesn’t work for the prosecutor’s office anymore-” Makoto says, stiffly, and Ren doesn't have to look in her direction to know how hard she's trying to hide the fact that Goro is pressing all of her buttons without even trying to. He clearly wasn't aware of Sae's impending career change though, because _that_ gets Goro's attention enough for him to actually turn to face her properly, “-she’s currently in the process of setting up her own legal firm, because she wants to become a defence attorney. I’m sure that she’d be happy to help you.”

"I'm sorry, but what is the point of this?" Haru speaks up before Goro can respond, and she sounds just as softly polite as usual, on the surface. Ren can hear the steel underneath.

" _Excuse me_?" Goro gasps, sounding flabbergasted, and maybe even a little affronted. Like if he was wearing pearls, he'd be clutching them. It might even be funny, under other circumstances.

Okay.

Maybe it's still _a little_ funny.

"Please forgive me for interrupting, Mako-chan, Akechi-kun," she continues, looking Goro dead in the eye, and not really sounding apologetic at all, "but I don't understand. Do you honestly think that wasting your life in a prison cell is the right way to atone? Because I don't, and I don't think that you really do either, Akechi-kun. Not when you could use this opportunity to actually _do_ something to make up for your mistakes, rather than hide away from them.”

Every head in the room has turned to stare at Haru, but Goro is literally _gaping_ at her, struck completely speechless.

Ren could kiss her.

Not only is she doing a _much better_ job of tackling the issue at hand (that is – pointing out how dumb Goro is being, for someone who is usually so smart) than he is, she’s also taken the immediate focus off of him.

Without the combined force of every eyeball in the room on him, Ren feels like he can actually take a second to _breathe_ , and as he turns what Makoto was saying over in his head, _something_ clicks. The mention of Sae Niijima is like a much-needed drop of oil on the rusty gears in his brain, and he has the beginnings of _an idea_ now.

There’s a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel. Ren feels the ghost of a smirk pull at his lips, and the beginnings of a familiar and satisfying little rush starting to fizz in his veins – the kind of feeling he usually gets when a pick turns _just right_ , and the last tumbler in a particularly difficult lock slides into place.

Because he’s just realised that he doesn’t actually need to talk Goro _out_ of doing anything. Not if he comes at this from a different angle.

"I'm not in prison."

Goro’s mouth snaps shut around whatever it was that he was going to say to Haru (which is probably for the best), and he whirls back around, hair flying about his face in a pretty cloud. “ _What?_ ”

Ren has to try _very hard_ not to laugh at the way his features are all scrunched up in bad-tempered confusion. "I _already_ did the whole ‘ _turning myself in_ ’ thing, remember? I admitted to being the leader of the Phantom Thieves – literally number one at the top of Japan's most wanted list, and I mean, okay, yeah, they did stick me in juvenile detention, but that was only because I violated my probation. And here I am-" Ren pauses to gesture at his surroundings, and really drive the point home, "- _not in prison_. Have you stopped to think about _why_?"

"That's-" Goro starts, still indignant, but then the penny drops, and he grimaces, like he just bit into something extremely sour, or spicy. "They couldn't charge you with any crimes related to the metaverse, _clearly_."

It's ridiculous, and it’s another thing that’s also kind of funny, but Ren can't tell if Goro looks so annoyed because he doesn't like the fact that he had to have the suddenly obvious flaw in his plan pointed out to him, or if he's actually just _that_ disappointed at the idea of not being able to get himself put away for life.

Ren can't help himself. He has to poke and prod a little more. "You told me, in January, that they released you before they tried to actually press any charges-” he _does_ try not to sound _too_ smug about the whole thing, but the way that Goro rolls his eyes while he’s speaking means that he probably isn’t quite successful. “-but the cops _must_ have still made it _pretty obvious_ that they didn't believe anything you told them?" 

"No, they didn’t,” Goro sighs, “but that whole thing was a _farce_ anyway. The ‘ _interrogation_ ’ they subjected me to consisted almost entirely of _me_ talking, while two empty-headed detectives smiled and nodded in all the right places – honestly, it was more like a glorified counselling session than any real attempt at questioning a suspect-" he interrupts himself with a chuckle. It's a wry and bitter thing. Ren thinks that he probably shouldn’t find it as attractive as he does. "Which, it's almost _too_ on the nose, isn't it? I'm sure that Maruki _really enjoyed_ himself, watching and squirrelling away all the little details, like the _greedy_ _fucking voyeur_ that he is. So, _no_ , Ren – I suppose that my previous experience with surrendering myself to the authorities can't really be used as any kind of benchmark for what could happen if I were to do it now."

Goro picks up his cup of coffee, in his usual dainty way, and takes a prim little sip. Ren uses the momentary lull in the conversion to let everything that Goro just told him sink in properly. 

It _would_ make sense, kind of, for Maruki to use Goro’s ‘arrest’ as an opportunity to have something like a one on one session with him. He'd had ones with all the rest of them at some point, after all, and having Goro literally locked up was probably the closest he could get…

But, hang on a second… hadn’t Maruki implied (or maybe he’d outright stated?) that he was straight up able to _view_ their memories? Back when he was explaining why he thought that Goro was dead? Why would he need to get the ‘details’ from Goro through other methods?

Ren shakes his head, that's something that he can worry about _later_. He has more important things to focus on right now.

“ _Okay_ , so-” Ren starts, scrubbing one hand absent-mindedly through his hair, and wincing when his fingers get caught in a stubborn knot, “-getting charged with, uh... _supernatural assassination_ is off the table, pretty much.”

“That certainly seems like a step in the right direction,” Yusuke adds, helpfully. 

Goro just huffs into his cup. 

There’s more to it though, Ren thinks, as he remembers having a very real-looking gun pointed at him in Mementos, when Goro challenged him to a duel in November. Then, obviously, there’s also the fact that Goro had volunteered to be the one to _take care of things_ in the interrogation room – which, as far as Goro had been concerned, was not something that was going to be happening in the metaverse. 

Futaba, at least, seems to be on the same wavelength as him, because she speaks up and saves him from having to come up with a delicate way to phrase his next question. 

“So, um… that’s great and all, but-” she says, hugging her knees tightly to her chest, and peering at Goro from the safety of the small letterbox of space between her kneecaps and the line of her bangs, “is there a-anything that you’d be confessing to that they, um, _could_ prosecute you for?”

Ren doesn’t know how, or when, their roles got so reversed, that she’s apparently stepping in to help him when he’s struggling to put his thoughts into words. He can’t say that he isn’t proud of her though, or that he doesn’t appreciate it – because he does, _immensely_. 

He needs to make some time for her later, to let her know that he owes her one. Big time.

“ _Oh_ ,” Goro coughs a surprised and sardonic sounding laugh into the back of his hand, as he sets his coffee back down, “you’re asking me if I did any of my father’s dirty work outside of the metaverse.”

“Well, _did_ you?” Yusuke chimes in again, blunt as ever. Ren has a gut feeling that he’s trying to redirect Goro’s attention away from Futaba this time, rather than out of any real interest in what Goro has to say.

“What, Kitagawa? Did I go around ‘ _disposing_ ’ of people for him? In reality?” There’s a current of condescension under Goro's words, and Ren wonders if it's as obvious to everyone else that he's only spoiling for a fight because his ego is bruised.

Yusuke nods, expression passive, not rising to the bait at all, and Goro's upper lip twitches in obvious irritation before he continues on with the rest of his explanation. “No, I didn’t – and really, that would be _obvious_ to all of you, if you stopped to think about it for more than _two seconds_. You were in Shido’s palace, after all, so you should know _exactly_ what kind of people he kept on his payroll-”

“The Cleaner,” Ren sighs, relieved, and immediately feels bad for worrying about it in the first place.

“Yes, the Cleaner,” Goro shoots him a slightly exasperated look, and Ren just offers his most apologetic shrug in return. “Shido had his fingers in _all kinds_ of nasty Yakuza pies, and he generally preferred to rely on them when someone was _in the way,_ so to speak. He had no reason not to, when he also had enough of the police force in his pocket that he didn’t really need to worry about any evidence that might be left behind – which suited me fine, honestly, I don’t think I’d have been able to keep up with the demand, if he’d only been relying on me.” 

Sojiro has still been puttering around behind the bar this whole time, having returned to his usual role of the silent observer once their conversation turned to the metaverse, and he’s aimlessly wiping down the far end of the bar when Shido’s Yakuza connections are brought up. Ren doesn’t miss the way he tenses up, movements going all stiff and jerky for a second before he gives up the pretence of ‘cleaning’ entirely, and by the time that Goro finishes the rest of what he has to say, Sojiro has already shrugged off his apron and is heading for the door.

“I’m going out,” he grumbles, pulling his hat onto his head with a little more force than usual, “I need to go and pick up some things in the store, and I could use the fresh air... before you kids give me a _goddamn heart attack_.”

There’s a chorus of chastened, and slightly awkward, ‘ _sorry, Boss_ ’s that he waves off as he steps outside. Ren watches, through the glass of the door, as Sojiro stops on the other side and seems to deliberate with himself for a second, before he takes the time to flip the sign around to 'closed', so they won’t be disturbed, and heads off down the street.

It’s the kind of small, considerate gesture that Ren’s own parents would never even think to do, and his heart swells with fondness for Sojiro at the same time that it aches. It’s only going to be a year, he knows that, but it still feels wrong, and unfair, to have to just go back to Kanbara and leave everything, and everyone, important to him behind. 

“So…” Morgana starts, pulling Ren out of his thoughts, and breaking the start of another awkward silence before it can properly settle in, “if there’s no proof... then what? Shido doesn’t have anything on you?”

"I didn't say _that_ ," Goro replies, and enough of the fight has drained out of him now, that he only really sounds tired, "someone like Shido couldn't get as far as he did without being shrewd about the people he let get close to him. In the beginning, when I first approached him, he had me running all sorts of little _errands_ for him, around Tokyo... Collecting information, delivering bribes, etcetera – stupid shit, that he could have had _literally anyone else_ do. I would be very surprised if it wasn’t for the express purpose of having something incriminating to hold over me, in the event that I ever tried to, ah, _get out…_ ”

His mouth twists into a deep frown as he trails off, and his eyes go a little unfocused and distant. It reminds Ren of the expression that had been on his face (only when he thought Ren wasn’t paying attention, of course), the last time they went to play billiards together in November. Back when Goro had been dropping so many hints about what was going to happen, that Ren had half convinced himself that he wasn't going to go through with it.

It was the look of someone who has been treading water for so long that just letting go, and slipping beneath the surface, is starting to seem like the best option.

Ren reaches out to thread their fingers together. “Hey,” he says, gently, squeezing the other boy’s hand in a way that he hopes is reassuring, “that all sounds like stuff that Makoto’s sister can help you with-”

“You’re even more _naive_ than I thought you all were, if you think that this is something that can be resolved by Sae-san making a couple of _phone calls_ ,” Goro cuts across him, tone suddenly harsh and acerbic. He’s switched gears so abruptly that Ren thinks he's going to rebuff his affectionate gesture and pull his hand away, but Goro surprises him by returning the squeeze instead. Although it does kind of feel more like he's trying to grind Ren's finger bones into dust when he does it, rather than something sweet or caring. _Ouch_. “The _thing_ that none of you seem to _understand_ – is that I have _no idea_ what’s waiting for me out there. No idea how deep my father's conspiracy really ran, and who might still be trying to 'clean-up' whatever's left of it. And even if I _wanted_ to, it’s not as if I could realistically go into hiding either, because I can’t remember the last time – outside of Maruki’s _fucking delusion_ – that I walked down the street without _somebody_ recognising me! If someone is going to come for me, I’d prefer to face them head on, rather than just _waiting around for the other shoe to drop_!”

Yusuke makes a thoughtful sound under his breath. “I fail to see how having yourself arrested, and potentially incarcerated, would help you achieve that…” 

Ren blinks a couple of times, because he’d almost missed it, until Yusuke said it. Something doesn’t add up here, there’s _something_ that Goro isn’t saying.

Because why _is_ he so dead set on getting himself put away, anyway? He knows that Goro doesn’t really have any great love, or respect for the criminal justice system, so it doesn’t make any sense for him to think that he’d need to turn himself in to make amends. Then there’s the fact that, with the way he’s talking, it sounds like doing so would be as good as putting a target on his back.

Wait.

Unless that’s what he _wants_ …?

_Oh._

_That’s exactly what he wants._

Ren actually laughs, an incredulous breath of a chuckle, “I can't believe you're trying to do this _again_ , Goro.” 

He knows that he’s right on the money when _that’s_ the thing that makes Goro pull his hand away, so that he can wrap his arms around himself defensively. The corners of his mouth even twitch upwards for a second, as if he has to consciously stop himself from hiding behind a polite smile, before he scowls and looks away. Ren’s not sure why he bothered though, when the words that come out of his mouth ring just as false as the smile would have. “I’m not sure that I know what you’re talking about, Ren.” 

“You were going to try to flush them out," Ren says, slow and calm, like he would if he was negotiating with a gloomy or irritable shadow. "You think that there’s someone out there tying up the loose ends – loose ends _like all of us_ – and you want to use yourself as bait to force them to make a move.”

Maybe Ren should be angry, or frustrated, but all he really feels is a weird mixture of relief and determination. Relief, that he cottoned onto what Goro was trying to do, and determination, because it’s _not_ happening.

He only just got Goro back, and he’s not going to stand by and watch him close the bulkhead door again.

“Okumura said it already, didn’t she?” Goro still isn’t looking at him, but he does lift his head up enough to send a sideways glance in the general direction of the booth. “That I should use this opportunity to make up for my mistakes?”

Ren's heart lurches painfully in his chest.

“Akechi…” Morgana says, softly.

Haru makes a wounded squeaking noise. “You _know_ that’s not what I meant, Akechi-kun!” 

“That’s _messed up_ , dude,” Ryuji adds.

“Thank you for your input, Sakamoto,” Goro sneers, but it’s half-hearted at best. “It’s a moot point anyway, it’s already been established that I probably won't even see a courtroom, let alone a jail cell. Really, though, it's only delaying the inevitable – it won't be long before some unhinged fan catches sight of me and posts my face all over the internet."

Ren almost feels a lightbulb manifest above his head, and the little ‘ding!’ sound to go along with it, because while there isn’t much he can do about some shady guys that might be lurking in the shadows, there is _one_ part of Goro’s problem that he _can_ address. “Futaba?”

She jumps at the sound of her name, and sits up straighter in her seat, hands moving to hover over her keyboard, ready and waiting to receive orders. “What’s up?”

“What’s this about?” Goro asks at almost the same time, instantly suspicious.

Ren takes a deep breath before he starts to explain. “After what happened in Shido’s palace, and again, after I got back in February… I asked Futaba to keep an eye out, y’know? For anything to do with you, online – just, uh, just in case...”

Goro makes a face, and Ren can see the way the muscles flex in his arms as he hugs himself a little tighter, clearly uncomfortable. Ren isn’t entirely sure why the fact that he cared enough to look should bother Goro so much, but he has a couple of ideas. None of them are good.

Self-worth, and Goro's obvious lack of it, is not a subject that Ren feels confident tackling, even though he knows that it _is_ probably going to come up between them at some point. One thing that he knows for sure is that it's definitely not something he can bring up in front of all of his friends.

So he leaves it for now, and turns back to the booth, making eye contact with Futaba and trying to ignore the bewildered and concerned expressions on everyone else's faces. It’s the first time they’re all hearing about this, after all, so it’s not surprising that they all look a little thrown, but while he _does_ feel bad for keeping them in the dark, he doesn't really regret it either. Futaba’s well-meaning, but painfully awkward, attempts to be sympathetic, when he'd first asked for her help, were bad enough. There was no reason for all the rest of them to have to suffer through the same thing as well.

Or at least, that's how he's choosing to justify it to himself anyway.

But the way they're all looking at him now, and Morgana's slightly hurt expression, in particular, makes him think that the excuse probably wouldn't fly if he voiced it.

So, he doesn't, and he just waits for Futaba to do her thing.

"So, um, yeah… give me a sec... let me just pull it all back up..." she pushes her glasses up her nose with one hand, while she taps away furiously on her keyboard with the other, "...there!"

Goro is up and off his stool, pretty much the second that Futaba turns the laptop for everyone to see, and Ren follows him to the booth; it’s the only way that either of them would have any real hope of being able to actually see what Futaba is showing them, when everyone else has leaned forward to look too. It takes some jostling (and more than a little complaining), but eventually, everyone settles into a position where they all have a decent view of the laptop, without anyone’s head being _too_ in the way. 

There’s usually a kind of organised chaos to Futaba’s desktop, but right now there are so many windows open on the screen that they're overlapping each other haphazardly, it makes it hard to find one point to focus on. There’s a lot of text that Ren can’t easily read from this far away, which isn't a big deal, really, because he's seen all of this before – but even if he _hadn't_ , it would still be pretty obvious what he's looking at even without the text, because the screen is _plastered_ with pictures of Goro. They vary widely in quality, ranging from glossy glamour shots, to cutesy selfies in cafés, and then there are the fan photos. Some of which are more selfies, just of the group variety (Goro surrounded by gangs of starstruck schoolgirls, charming smile firmly in place, bright and false, and nearly identical in every picture), but others are more candid, taken by cagier fans from afar, without Goro knowing.

They were the ones that had held Ren's attention the most when Futaba showed all of this to him that first time, in December. 

Here’s one of Goro standing in line at Yon Germain, looking tired and harried, and frowning down at something on his phone. Then there’s a series of pictures of him at Inokashira Park, obviously taken in quick succession (and very sneakily), that show him stopping at a bench to stretch and take a break during his morning cycle… and Ren is not ashamed to admit that it’s a picture set that he would revisit in his mind, many, many times when he was alone. Who could blame him though? Because, well, _bike shorts_!

Then there's the photo where he’s standing just inside the doorway of Penguin Sniper, taking refuge from a sudden downpour. Goro is frozen in time, smiling warmly, with one hand half-raised to greet a person who was caught just as they walked into frame – their only distinguishable features being the blur of a familiar dark umbrella and a denim clad leg. Ren thinks it might have been one of the first times they'd gone to the lounge together, when all he'd really known about Goro was that, on top of the whole ‘hates the Phantom Thieves’ thing (and the 'being able to understand Morgana' thing), he was very interesting, and _very_ pretty.

Ren lets his eyes slide away from the screen and to the real Goro beside him. The other boy is squinting down at the laptop, distaste clear in the set of his jaw, but Ren sees something flicker behind his eyes, and he wonders if he's figured it out. "Those are my-"

"Your social media, your blog-" Futaba ticks them off on her fingers as she goes. She sounds much more confident now than she did earlier, which is what usually happens when she's talking about tech stuff, "-and your top five most popular fansites."

"Let me guess-" and Goro's tone makes it very clear that what he's about to say is anything _but_ , "-towards the end of December, right around Christmas Eve, all of the activity dries up, and now there's nothing on them at all – no posts from concerned fans, or well-wishers."

"Uh, yeah... that's right…" Futaba sounds a little crestfallen at having the wind taken out of her sails, but she’s quick to recover. "I also reached out to a bunch of my old party members – from back in my Medjed days, and they couldn’t find anything… and there’s nothing on the dark web either. It's like the new year started and everyone got, uh, _memory-wiped_... or at least all of their Akechi-flags got removed, anyways."

"Is that because of Yaldabaoth?" Makoto asks.

"Maybe…" Akechi muses, one hand on his chin. "That is what I had assumed originally as well, when I turned on my phone, and the only meaningful correspondence on it – from the end of December onwards, was from your sister, and the people in this room. Yaldabaoth _is_ the obvious choice, at first...”

Makoto crosses her arms and leans back in the booth seat, a similarly pensive expression on her face. “But you think it might be something else?”

“It’s just a hypothesis… but I was thinking that it could also have something to do with Maruki's reality warping abilities. He removed my celebrity status, in January – either as an attempt to try and make his version of the world more attractive to me… or perhaps it was just a side effect of altering things so that I had never approached Shido? Regardless of his reasons, whatever he did, it made me very much anonymous."

“But we beat the doc, right?” Ryuji asks, “everythin’ went back to normal...”

“ _Something_ has to be causing it, though,” Futaba says, “and if it wasn’t Maruki, then it was Yaldy – and I know that perception is your _dump stat_ , Ryuji, but in case you forgot, we kinda beat him too!”

“Hey, I was just askin'!” Ryuji cries, just as Futaba takes aim and flicks one of those little paper sachets of salt at him. He ducks out of the way easily though, and it sails over his head and into the empty booth behind them.

Ren hurries to take control of the conversation again, before Ryuji gets it in his head to try to retaliate. He’d usually be more than on board for an impromptu condiment fight, but there are still _way_ too many unanswered questions for them to start getting distracted now. “There’s a difference, though, Goro – between making you _not-famous_ , and making it like you never existed.”

“I’m not saying that it was what Maruki intended, _necessarily_ ,” Goro shrugs, “I just think that it’s entirely possible that what he did might have had a lasting effect on the public cognition. Really, the bigger question is what it actually means for me now – how far does it go? Do I even _have_ a life to return to?”

“You were still on your school’s records, last time I checked,” Futaba says, all business again, as she spins her laptop back around to do some more frenetic typing. “Yup, still there… and, yeah, the last manual notes on your file are from the twentieth of December – it’s just automated truancy logging after that, and _wow_ , you’ve _really_ racked up an impressive combo… which – coming from me? That’s saying something...” she pauses and leans in even closer to squint at the screen. “Um, it also, _kinda_ , _maybe_ , looks like you just missed your graduation…”

Ann rests her chin on the heel of one hand and looks up at Goro. "Does that mean you need to repeat third year?"

"You did take a couple of college entrance exams at the same time that I did, so… maybe not?" Makoto adds, and then smiles like she usually does when she's going to try to join in with Futaba and Ryuji, when they're ribbing each other. Ren braces himself, because this does not usually go well. "Assuming, of course, that you passed, Akechi-kun?"

Goro has been standing, deep in thought, with one hand gripping the back of the booth seat behind Yusuke’s head, while he worries at his lower lip with the other. He’s so distracted that he hardly reacts to what Makoto says at all, and just makes a tutting sound before offhandedly muttering, “I never placed lower than the top five. Naturally.”

Ren catches her eye and offers her a sympathetic half-smile half-wince, and she returns it with her own tight-lipped smile.

" _Naturally_ , of course," she sighs and shifts focus to whatever she has as the next point on her internal checklist. “What are you going to do now then?”

"I do want to speak with Sae-san, but I would prefer to wait until tomorrow, at least… until after…" he trails off and looks in Ren’s direction. 

The rest of what he wants to say is pretty obvious, but that won't stop Ren from spelling it out, and he can't quite keep the smile off his face when he says, "You want to wait until after I've left."

"Aww, that's sweet!" Ann coos at the same time that Futaba makes a gagging noise.

"Yes, fine, it's true," Goro admits, begrudgingly, and shifts his weight onto one foot so that he can kick at Ren’s shin lightly with the other, “you don’t have to look so smug about it.”

“Oh, I really do,” Ren grins, and Morgana joins Futaba in sounding like he might be about to hack up a lung.

Goro clears his throat, and brings a hand up to his mouth, in what Ren is like, ninety percent sure is an effort to hide his own smile. "As for what I'd like to do in the _immediate_ future – I wouldn't be averse to picking up a change of clothes, but I don't know how feasible that is, given my current situation."

"You're still on your apartment's lease, if that's what you're wondering," Futaba says, having apparently overcome her debilitating illness, "and I've patched into the building's CCTV a couple of times already, I don't think that anyone's been watching the place… Not since the first couple of weeks after you dropped off the grid anyways."

Ren wishes that he was close enough to pat her on the head. "So you're saying that we should be safe to go to Goro's place?"

"I mean, yeah, probably" she shrugs, and breaks out into a sharp grin, "I can even set up a loop of old security footage, if you want, so there'll be no record of him going back."

"Wow, Futaba!" Ann goggles, "that's like something out of a movie!"

"Heh, I wouldn't be much of a Navi if I couldn't do this much!"

"Sakura, as much as I appreciate this…" Goro interrupts, "you are aware of the potentially _life-ruining_ consequences of playing so fast and loose with this country’s privacy laws?"

"Don't bother," Makoto says, in the long-suffering tone of Mom Friends everywhere, "she doesn't listen."

"Do you narcs want the assist or not?" Futaba huffs, without looking back up from her screen.

"You're gonna need help, right?" Ryuji asks, before Goro or Makoto can respond, "to get your stuff?"

Goro clears his throat awkwardly. "I don't expect any of you to put yourselves out on my account. Sakura is already doing more than enough…"

Ryuji makes a dismissive noise. "Nah, man, me n' Yusuke'd be happy to give you a hand."

Yusuke balks at the suggestion. "We would?"

"It's not like I need to save up for weapons and equipment anymore, so I'll buy dinner for the moving crew – whoever they may be," Ren offers, and laughs when Yusuke's eyes widen comically.

"Ah yes, I suppose that offering Akechi assistance in his time of need is the least that we could do."

"I wanna come too!" Ann giggles, clapping her hands. "Sneaking in and stuff sounds like fun! Kind of like we're infiltrating a palace?"

"It is a little bit like that, isn't it?" Haru says, sounding cautiously excited, "and I can ask my driver to help you transport your things, Akechi-kun."

"I've already bought some flatpack boxes, in anticipation of my own move…" Makoto hums thoughtfully, "I suppose that we could use those."

Goro looks perplexed, flustered, and completely and utterly lost. "Why are you all so willing to help me?"

"Once a Phantom Thief, always a Phantom Thief, Akechi," Morgana says, jumping down onto the table in front of them. “And we always look out for each other.”

If anything Goro just seems even more confused. 

Ren reaches out to take his hand again, and tugs at it until the other boy gets the message, and turns to face him.

"You ready for one last heist, Goro?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cliffhanger is gone! And the people rejoiced!
> 
> I'm on Twitter. Come yell at me! @CloudMenaceBird


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all of your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions!
> 
> The update is a little shorter than usual, because y'know, Christmas, but also because like, ninety percent of this chapter wasn't in my outline... and it felt like it needed its own space, instead of being tacked onto what I had planned for this chapter.
> 
> We're back to Akechi's POV, and it was a little like slipping into a pair of comfortable and nicely worn-in boots... except the boots are pretentious, and bitchy, and definitely have self-esteem issues. Maybe they're argyle too?

_L'enfer, c'est les autres._

Hell is other people.

Back when Goro was still giving interviews, and therefore still playing the role of the charming and _ever so precocious_ Detective Prince, he would often be asked about his interest in philosophy. Only ever in passing, of course, and he was expected to answer in the kind of simple, and still perfectly-digestible, sound bites that added just the right amount of authenticity to his intellectual image, without ever going into enough detail to make him seem too aloof, or unapproachable, to his vapid fanbase. 

And even though that love for philosophy was just as much a construct as the rest of his public persona, he'd still put a not-insubstantial amount of time and effort into doing the required reading, because Goro Akechi does not do things by halves. The desire to be good (the best) at something, and doing it well (perfectly), is just not something that he's ever been able to compromise on. He's still not entirely sure how he'd managed it, really, but by some means, he’d crammed the consumption of a mountain of musty texts into his, already very busy, schedule. Which was how he'd found out, to his surprise, that there were actually one or two works that resonated with him.

No Exit (or _Huis Clos,_ in the original French) by Jean-Paul Sartre had ended up becoming a particular favourite of his, in a masochistic sort of way, with its exploration of the concept of how painfully unpleasant it is to be truly perceived by others, and judged accordingly.

It's what comes to mind, more and more, when he thinks about the Phantom Thieves. 

Although, that isn't to say that he _seriously_ believes that his interactions with them are some kind of divine punishment, or torture, specifically designed to be retribution for his crimes.

No. 

That would be _ludicrous_.

Even if it might _feel_ that way a lot of the time.

From the mortification of spilling his guts to them in his father's palace, to the fact that he’d needed Ren to point out to him exactly _why_ his most recent plan was just as much of a non-starter as the previous one had been… 

Again, while _they'd all been watching_.

And that's not all! No! There's also the slightly more mundane (but still _unbearable_!) embarrassment of today's lunchtime curry debacle, and of course, it’s not as if he could _ever_ forget the stupid _fucking takoyaki_ that came before it.

Now they're on the train, on their way to his apartment, and he is trying, desperately, to remember what kind of condition he'd left it in, on that fateful day in December. The one that would eventually culminate in the confrontation in the engine room. 

His living space has always been... _messy_ , he's under no illusions about that – having it be presentable had seemed like a relatively low priority, all things considered, when he’d never planned to 'entertain' _anyone_ there, let alone seven other teenagers, and their not-cat. There's no escaping the fact that there will, most likely, be schoolwork, books, and files strewn about the place, but he _is_ almost positive that he had taken the trash out (or the majority of it at least) relatively recently. Coming across as untidy and disorganised isn’t exactly desirable, but it’s still leagues better than seeming _dirty_ , isn’t it? And who knows? Maybe he'll finally catch a break, and Shido's goons will have set themselves up nicely to take the blame for his slovenliness, by ransacking the place.

And if not, then what's one more embarrassment to add to the ever-growing list, really?

Because the Phantom Thieves always seem to end up having front row seats to his discomfort and humiliation, regardless of his own feelings on the matter.

As if on cue, the crush of people on the subway car shifts to make room for a fresh wave of passengers to get on, an elbow digs into Goro’s back, and he has to tighten his grip on the metal support bar above him just to stay vertical. Somehow, despite the fact that there could not _possibly_ be room for any more people, there’s still jostling and pushing going on behind him, and he has to brace his other hand against the wall of the car to stop himself from being shoved forward and directly on top of Sakura. The girl in question doesn’t seem to notice how close he came to flattening her though, and she just stays hunched over her phone, in the one, solitary seat that they managed to secure when they first got on the train.

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Try to ignore the suffocating, sticky, animal heat that comes with being crammed into a ridiculously small, metal box with far too many other humans, many of whom smell like they were never made aware of a lovely little modern invention called _deodorant_. 

Say what you will about the creepy subway cars in Mementos, but at least the shadows on them didn’t _fucking stink_.

The worst part (on a long list of various other _shitty parts_ ), is that he's sure that he probably doesn’t smell much better than the unwashed masses around him. It's a direct consequence of having not showered for _at least_ a day and a half (assuming that the months he spent in Velvet Limbo don’t count), and from engaging in a lot of delightfully messy and strenuous physical activity this morning. Certainly, it's so warm and stuffy in here, that he feels like he _must_ be sweating right through his borrowed button-up, and into the ratty old hoodie that he'd been cajoled into wearing as they were leaving Leblanc.

It _had_ made a sort of sense, when Ren had shoved the shabby thing into his arms earlier, that wearing it with the hood up might serve as a last line of defence, flimsy as it may be, just in case Sakura was wrong (she had _not_ taken the suggestion that her data was anything other than perfect well. Goro could relate), and someone actually does end up recognising him.

He’s thoroughly regretting going along with it now though, of course, since the hood is only adding to his feeling of sweaty claustrophobia.

“You okay, dude?” Sakamoto whisper-shouts right beside his ear, and Goro catches himself before he snarls something unpleasant back, because he shouldn’t even be angry at him for being so close, it’s not as if it’s _his fault_ that they’re being literally jammed up against each other by the throng of people around them.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he grits out, and wonders if the sharp thing that’s currently trying to burrow through his ribcage, and puncture his left lung, is the pointy end of some asshole’s umbrella, or if it’s actually just Kitagawa’s freakishly bony elbow.

“You sure?” Ren’s voice comes from somewhere to his right... Or maybe it was more from behind him? It’s hard to pin down, and when he tries to turn to look, all he gets is an eyeful of Sakamoto’s bright pineapple head.

Great. 

Whatever. 

He might not be able to _see_ Ren, but he heard him well enough to know that he’s finding this whole thing far more amusing than any _sane_ person should.

So Goro chooses to ignore him entirely, and deny him the satisfaction of a response.

Though trying to figure out Ren’s exact location has made him think about where the others have ended up. He has eyes on Sakura, and of course, he’s currently the unwilling meat in a Sakamoto-Kitagawa sandwich... which, honestly, the less he thinks about _that_ the better. Morgana, the _lucky little shit_ , is presumably still safely tucked into Ren’s bag, but Goro is starting to realise that he’s long lost track of where Niijima, Takamaki, and Okumura are in this veritable sea of bodies. 

He hopes that they haven’t been crushed to death. It would be unfortunate, when he’s only just begun to see the merits in getting along with them.

“Are we nearly there?” Sakura squeaks up at him, her eyes are big, round, and over-bright behind her glasses, and her mouth is pinched in at the corners. She does not look well, at all, and he’s not sure if it’s the light from something she has open on her phone, or if she’s genuinely gone _that_ green around the gills.

God, he hopes that she isn’t going to vomit.

“It’s the next stop,” he answers, and is trying to come up with some kind of reassuring platitude, when the hard edge of someone’s shoe scrapes down the back of his ankle, definitely taking a layer of skin with it, and nearly popping his heel right out of his own shoe. He has to close his eyes and bite the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the urge to kick out blindly behind him, like a mindless fucking donkey, in retaliation.

How the hell did he get himself into this god awful situation?

Which, obviously, is a figurative question. 

And a fairly pointless one at that.

Because in the literal sense, there is an increasingly improbable, and convoluted, sequence of events that lead to Goro having the life squeezed out of him in this glorified can of sardines. You could go back a year, maybe two, or even just back to that day in the TV studio when he’d decided to approach the group of Shujin students that he’d overheard talking about the Phantom Thieves. But _this_ had really started with him deciding to give up his life and his revenge, just moments before he was murdered by the metaphysical manifestation of his father's low opinion of him, and then it had ended with him being gently bullied into letting this group of too nice, and too _fucking persistent_ , teenagers help him go to retrieve his things.

And all of that was without going into their little detour to a delusional school counsellor's idea of paradise, or being left in some kind of strange supernatural torpor for months on end, while he was missing, and presumed dead by the handful of people who gave a shit… and forgotten entirely by everyone else.

The speaker above him comes to life, after what _has_ to have been a small eternity, and a polite, robotic voice announces that they’ve reached his stop. 

If he muscles his way out of the godforsaken, mobile coffin with more force than someone who is supposed to be being discreet about their return to the land of the living probably should, nobody draws attention to it.

“Everyone still in one piece?” Ren asks, breezily, once they’re all on the platform, annoyingly unruffled by the experience.

Goro is wondering how well a joke about pushing him onto the track would be received (his _harmless_ quip about shooting Maruki, instead of fighting him, had gone down like a lead balloon after all), when the small smile slips off Ren’s face, and he suddenly looks far more serious.

“Futaba, are you alright?”

Okumura already has one arm around her narrow shoulders, and while Sakura _does_ still look shaken, she actually seems a great deal better now than she had on the train. Goro supposes that there’s no way that Ren could know that though, given that there had been a veritable wall of foul-smelling meat between him and the girl for the majority of their train ride.

Sakura gives them all a slightly shaky thumbs up. “I’m good. Really. My batteries are just _super_ drained, and the subway is still kinda high level for me… Anyone got something with caffeine in it?”

Nobody does. Of course.

Niijima turns to him. “There must be a convenience store around here, Akechi-kun?”

“Ah, yes,” Goro replies, dumbly, nearly slapping himself for not thinking to volunteer the information unprompted, “there’s one just outside the exit.”

Takamaki comes up on Sakura’s other side, and she links their arms together, nearly dragging the other girls with her as she starts walking. “We should totally get some snacks!”

And that's how he finds himself being corralled, again, like some dopey bovine being led to slaughter, up the stairs and out of the subway station, and then into said convenience store.

They're only in the door a hot second when Sakamoto literally grabs Ren, and pulls him into a headlock. Well, maybe not _literally_ , but he _does_ wrap an arm around Ren's shoulder, and steers him, forcefully, away from the rest of the group. Ren, for his part, shoots him an apologetic look over his shoulder as he's dragged off.

Goro gives him the finger.

Ren just laughs, and turns back to Sakamoto. Goro catches a brief glimpse of Morgana's face as well, just before he ducks back into Ren's bag again, and the cat-thing looks very unimpressed with him. Good.

Sakura trails after the two boys, like a little orange duckling, towards the fridges at the back of the store. Presumably to buy some of those obnoxiously coloured (and questionably safe) energy drinks. 

Okumura and Niijima wander off in the other direction together, towards the small case of cakes near the counter, shopping baskets in hand.

Which leaves him with Kitagawa and Takamaki.

Fantastic. 

“Okay!” Takamaki claps her hands together, picks up a basket, and takes a determined step forward, like she’s about to head into battle. “Where are the sweets?”

“Ah! That sign there-” Kitagawa says, pointing at the hanging sign over an aisle to their right, as he picks up his own basket (how much, exactly, are they planning on buying?), “-it says ‘confectionary’.”

Maybe he can take advantage of the distraction, and slip away by himself? 

And – no such luck, Takamaki has already noticed the fact that he isn’t following them. She half turns his way, looks him up and down, and then smiles brightly. Goro has to believe it’s at least partially genuine, because he _knows_ that she’s a terrible actress. It still makes him feel somewhat wary, regardless. 

“Are you coming?”

“I suppose so,” he sighs, defeated, and moves to join them, but stops in his tracks when Kitagawa holds up his hand.

“You're forgetting your basket, Akechi.”

What the _fuck_? Goro feels his eyebrow twitch. _Are they trying to clear the place out_?

He takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that they are, apparently, here to help him. 

And surely there’s no harm in buying a stupidly large amount of junk food to gorge themselves on? Isn’t that something that normal teenagers are supposed to do?

Not that he has any real frame of reference.

So, for what feels like the hundredth time in the last couple of hours, he decides to ignore his suspicious knee-jerk reaction and play along. 

The basket’s handle is unpleasantly sticky against his bare fingers, and he finds himself wishing for his gloves again. Although, if he thought that they’d look ridiculous with Ren’s button-up and jeans, then the expensive leather would certainly look far worse paired with this faded, and worn-out hoodie. 

"Everyone else got a welcome party when they became a Phantom Thief, you know?" Takamaki says, as they walk towards what is _sure_ to be a contributing factor to her adult-onset diabetes. 

"Did they now?" Goro responds, only because she’s watching him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to say _something_ , even though what she’s driving at is incredibly obvious.

She opens her mouth, as if she means to continue, but becomes immediately distracted once they reach their destination, picking out a very pink, and very large, bag of marshmallows from a nearby shelf, and pausing to consider the back of it for a couple of thoughtful seconds, before she shrugs and drops it into her shopping basket. 

Is she _seriously_ just going to leave that statement hanging in the air?

“You were saying?” he prompts, and she stares at him for a second before the fact that she had actually been talking seems to click.

“Oh, right! Yeah, I was just thinking that like, maybe this could be yours? Since you didn’t have one before, ‘cause y’know…”

“Because I blackmailed my way into your group, yes,” he says dismissively, while he scans the shelves. A plain, dark chocolate Pit Pat bar catches his eye (if he's going to be eating garbage, then it might as well be garbage that he actually _likes_ ), and he tosses it into his own basket. "And I'm sure that at least _some_ of you were aware that I was going to betray you."

"We were suspicious of you, of course-" Kitagawa's deep voice comes from almost directly behind him, and Goro _does not jump_. That would be ridiculous. "-but no, we had no clue about your true motivations at that point in time."

Goro watches Kitagawa add another item to his basket (everything in there has blue packaging, and Goro is unsure if that’s a coincidence, a weird artist-thing, or just a _weird Kitagawa-thing_ ), and mulls this new scrap of information over. Had Ren truly had no idea about his intentions? Or had he just played it close to his chest, deciding to keep it from his friends until he felt it was necessary?

It makes him realise just how in the dark he still is, about _how_ exactly they came to know about his plan, and even the method by which they’d foiled it so completely.

The information that he _does_ have is spotty at best, cobbled together from context, and snippets of conversation in January – one _enlightening_ exchange in Mementos in particular. When Sakamoto’s desire to rub his nose in it had resulted in a surprisingly detailed account of how exactly he’d exposed himself as a persona user, long before he approached them at the school festival in October. Apparently, he'd unknowingly repeated something Morgana had said, about _pancakes_ , of all things... 

And, yes, okay, a large part of him is obviously grateful for that slip-up, because without it, there's a very real chance that Ren would be in the ground now... Goro is positive that he wouldn't have been far behind.

But he doesn't think it will ever cease to rankle him, because how was he _ever_ supposed to have anticipated that there would be a _talking fucking cat_ to overhear in the first place? Let alone the fact that only people who’ve been to the metaverse could understand the _damned thing_?

Deep breath.

Setting _that_ aside for the moment, the point still stands – he doesn't actually know, not for sure, how they came to learn about the specifics of his plan in November. 

Sakura is the obvious answer, of course, despite how cautious he'd always tried to be with his personal electronics. He’s had plenty of first-hand experience, in the last twenty-four hours, of just how savvy she can be with bugs, and monitoring phones.

And if Sakura _had_ been spying on him, how long had it been going on for? How much did she hear? Or _see_? 

_Fuck_.

Goro can feel himself starting to spiral again, and he does his best to rein it back in, closing his eyes against the sudden urge to sweep everything off the shelf in front of him, and grind it to a fine paste under his heel. It's stupid, he's _being stupid_ , because it’s not something he should even waste his time thinking about. There’s no fucking point. It’s not as if it can be _undone_ … 

Still, it’s hard to get it out of his head now that it’s in there, and it makes him feel exposed and uncomfortable... like there are hundreds of tiny insects crawling all over him, itchy and unpleasant. Impossible to ignore.

What can he do about it though? Other than to continue on as he has been? The only thing, really, is to try to be hyper vigilant for any tells, or slip-ups… anything that might indicate that they know more than they _should_.

A blonde head bobs into his eyeline. “Is that all you’re getting, Akechi?”

“Oh-” Goro blinks a couple of times, and then looks down at his solitary Pit Pat, sitting sadly by itself. “No... I was just thinking,” he says, grabbing the nearest packet and throwing it into his basket without looking at it.

He’s not entirely sure how long he was caught up in his internal dialogue (getting lost in his own head has always been a problem for him, ever since he was a small child), but Takamaki has amassed quite an impressive haul while he was thinking, so it was probably more than just a minute or two.

Although... Kitagawa is _still_ talking – is actually making _quite_ the spectacle of himself, in fact, swooning in the aisle, with his basket swinging wildly from the crook of one spindly arm – so maybe less time has passed than Takamaki's junk food collection might lead him to believe. 

Goro thinks he might hear him say something about hotpot... and porridge? “ _What_?”

"Don't mind, Yusuke," Takamaki titters, still far too close, and flapping her free hand obnoxiously in his face. “Can you help me get that pack of strawberry Bocky up there? I can’t reach…”

Goro takes a half step back, squints suspiciously up at the row of boxes on the top shelf, and then back to Takamaki. She only flinches slightly.

He's feeling sceptical, to say the least.

Takamaki is not particularly short, and she's also wearing boots that add another couple of inches to her height, so he's sure that she would be able to get what she's after if she were to actually _try_. But he has an inkling about what it is that she's aiming for, truthfully, and on top of being lazy – she’s trying to extend an olive branch, through an ill-thought-out attempt to make him feel _needed_ , or _useful_ , or something else equally inane.

It's definitely somewhere in the region of pity, isn't it? He thinks to himself, bitterly, as he grabs the flimsy box down from the shelf, and pushes it into her waiting hands. Some of the displeasure _must_ be showing on his face, but she just thanks him, assailing him with another one of those bright smiles, and if anything, this one looks even more sincere. 

Goro finds himself wondering, not for the first time, if all of the Phantom Thieves are somewhat touched in the head. 

"You know, you actually kind of remind me of a friend of mine..." she says, cryptically, as the box of Bocky joins the mountain of food in her basket.

Goro thinks about pressing her for more details, several responses run through his mind (on a sliding scale of severity, starting with a polite "Ah, is that so?" and ending with something more like "Could you just say what you fucking mean?"), but she turns away from him, in a flurry of long pigtails and fruity smelling perfume, before he can even start to get the words out. 

At least she’s finally given him some much-needed space.

Something about her smile sticks with him though, while the three of them continue to gather enough candy to give an elephant heart palpitations. He learns that there is actually a kind of logic to the way they all spit up, that it’s _delegation_ – they are in charge of procuring sweets for the entire group, while the others get the savoury snacks, and the drinks, and anything else that they might need. Having things reframed as a task with a goal helps to distract him from his more _turbulent_ thoughts, and he might even find himself with an echo of Takamaki’s expression on his own face by the time they're done.

“Akechi?” she asks, just as they’re about to head over to the counter, to hopefully meet back up with the others, and get this shitshow on the road. “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“You used to call all of us by our given names before… before _y’know_...” she says, laughing awkwardly, “why’d you stop?”

Well, that was unexpected.

“Takamaki,” he starts, keeping his tone measured and civil, despite the urge to be condescending (and the prickle of panic up his spine that he’s choosing to ignore), “it was all a _lie_. You were just obstacles to me, we were never _friends_.”

“I know that, you _dummy_!” she says, with an exasperated gust of a laugh that sets Goro’s teeth on edge. Then she squares her feet, and plants her free hand on her hip. “But _a lot_ has happened since then, right? Like, it just feels _weird_ to still be calling you ‘Akechi’ after all of that, is all… And, I mean, it’s not like we can’t try to be friends _now._ ”

What the _fuck_.

Goro’s mind is racing, threatening to go off the rails entirely – but if he can just keep calm enough to come at this logically, then maybe he can untangle the sick mess of alarm and paranoia that’s already started twisting in his gut.

First of all, what _is_ this? 

What is she trying to achieve here?

It certainly doesn’t _feel_ like a trick... what would the motivation even be? Other than cruelty, and that doesn’t fit with what he knows about Ann Takamaki. And even if it _did_ , he knows that – if nothing else, _Ren_ is important to her, and _he’s_ important to Ren, so…

If it’s not a trick, or a lie, then what is it? A genuine desire to reach out?

But _why? Why would she care_? And _why_ is he only just realising that he doesn’t... _dislike_ the fact that she might? 

She looks just as surprised as he is when his mouth apparently decides to take the matter into its own hands. “Fine… _Ann_.”

If he thought that she was smiling brightly before, it’s nothing compared to the megawatt grin she breaks out in now, and he has a panicky moment where he’s worried that she’s going to try and hug him again, but she (thankfully) just bounces happily on her heels instead, swinging her basket dangerously close to a display of stacked cans as she does.

“Okay, _Goro_ ,” she giggles like they have some kind of _in-joke_ now.

Oh, he’s regretting this already.

“That was quite lovely,” Kitagawa pipes up, having somehow blended into the background, despite being almost six foot tall, “of course, Goro, you are also more than welcome to refer to me as Yusuke.”

Still feeling blindsided, off-kilter, and not entirely sure _what the fuck just happened_ , Goro watches the pair of them gather their things, and then make for the other end of the store. 

He can see that all of the other Thieves are already waiting for them there.

“You coming, Goro?” Takama- _Ann_ calls over her shoulder, loudly enough that there’s no way the rest of them didn’t overhear.

And, yes, he can see Ren’s shoulders shaking in barely contained laughter, even from here.

Goro sighs deeply, and follows, thinking again of No Exit, and Garcin’s last line in particular.

 _Eh bien, continuons..._

Well then, let's get on with it…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there we go, kiddos.
> 
> All Jean-Paul Sartre references are dedicated to Frockbot.
> 
> Please, come to Twitter and yell at me, about ShuAke, or anything. I'm @CloudMenaceBird


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys!!!
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks, and amazing comments! And for adding this fic to a collection that also includes some of my absolute favourites!
> 
> As with the previous Futaba chapter, please take all of the tech stuff in this one with a massive pinch of salt. I do not know what I'm talking about.
> 
> This chapter come with a minor content warning for a (very small) reference to some canon child abuse.

Futaba is starting to think that (maybe) this actually _is_ a little like a palace infiltration, now that they're all squished into the alleyway across from their main objective, after doing some very basic recon. The only thing – and it's a _big_ thing – is that they’re in the real world, and that leaves her without her persona to buff her skills.

Which has left her kind of, y'know, _nerfed_. 

But whatevs, it's cool.

She's always preferred playing on hard mode anyways.

Leaving the others to guard the entrance, she backs up a few steps, deeper into the gloom of the alley, and pulls her laptop out of her bag. The ground in here isn't _super gross_ , but she doesn't really want to sit on it either – so she leans back against the wall, slides down the brick, and into a crouch, so that she can use the tops of her thighs as a makeshift desk.

Despite her best efforts, and even though the light in the alley is pretty dim, there's still some pretty severe glare on her display. She tries tilting the laptop screen a little on its hinge, forward, and then back… it doesn't make much of a difference, and neither does turning the laptop away from the entrance. Crap. It sucks, but she'll just have to make do, because it's not like blackout blinds are exactly an option here. 

Maybe she can get Inari to stand over her? Make himself useful-

She’s distracted as her machine boots up, lickety split, and she sets about opening the programs she needs – one that will allow her to dummy her way into the WiFi in the apartment block across the street, and another that will get her into the security system. Of course, she’s been in both already, multiple times, so it’s just a matter of pulling up her history. Then she decides to open up the building’s plans as well, just to cover all of her bases.

So she just needs to loop the security camera footage in the lobby, the stairwell, and the floor that Akechi's apartment is on…

(Yeah, she heard Ann and Inari calling him _Goro_ earlier, and he can call her Futaba if he _really_ wants to… but using anything other than _Akechi_ for him still feels _super-ultra-weird_ to her. It's just not happening.)

Score! She doesn't even have to loop the feed! They have the last thirty days of video backed up to an archive, so she can just yoink the file from yesterday.

Easy-peasy.

First objective complete!

The next part is gonna be tricky though.

Ren did say that he wants to play this safe, and that they should try to avoid being seen, because even if there's a good chance (more than good, but whatever) that Akechi won't be recognised, that doesn't mean that their group won't draw any unwanted attention. Which means that she's supposed to make sure that they'll be able to walk through the lobby. Incognito. No witnesses allowed.

There might be a small problem with that part of the plan.

Maybe it's because this is kind of a fancy area, but, unlike the crappy building she used to live in with her mom, whoever owns this apartment building has an actual concierge working at the front desk. They'll have to get past him without being seen, obvi, but it's not like they'll be able to climb through the vents to avoid him, metaverse-style... or bust out their personas to beat the snot out of the guy if sneaking doesn't work.

Futaba pushes her glasses up her nose, blows her bangs out of her face, and chews the inside of her cheek. 

It’s like she keeps running into a cognitive wall with ‘This isn’t the Metaverse!’ printed on it in big letters, because this would be _so much easier_ if she could just hack the dude! But still, even here in meatspace, there has to be _something_ that she can do… something that will get him to move, something to distract him-

A shadow falls across her screen, getting rid of the glare ( _yay_!), but also dispelling her +5 concentration buff ( _boo_!).

Her friends understand, mostly, that when she's trying to figure out an exploit, or an enemy's weakness, that they should act like she's got her shields up, and just let her do her thing.

That's how she knows, without looking up, that it's probably Akechi.

He's supposed to be smart, right? If Ryuji and Inari can figure it out, then she feels like he should also probably _get it_ by now? But here he is, looming over her, and craning to get a look at her screen.

She almost slams the laptop closed.

 _Where is Ren_? Shouldn't he be holding this _dingus's_ hand, or _whatever_ , and keeping him out of her hair?

She _really_ should have grabbed one of those bottles of Mad Bull, before she sat down and got stuck into this, the lack of sleep is making her über-crabby.

"Modifying the security footage is one thing-" he says, all thoughtful, and Futaba's eyes flit up to his face long enough to see the doofy expression on it, like he thinks he can analyse what's on her screen. Pffft, as if he has the first _clue_ about what she's doing. "-but what do you plan to do about poor, old Ogawa-san at the front desk?" Okay, maybe he has _some_ idea. Not that she's going to let _him_ know that. "Don't you think that he might notice eight teenagers traipsing through his place of work, all while carrying a small fortune's worth of junk food? Or am I to approach him outright – really test your hypothesis, and see if he recognises me after all?"

Futaba is only half listening, she’s too busy thinking about the canister of compressed air on her desk at home. It's not only the best way to clean her equipment without risking water damage, no, it also works great when she has to shoo Mona away from whatever he's trying to stick his nose into. She'd give one of her limited edition Featherman figures (well, any one of them other than her fifth anniversary edition Pink Argus, of course, _duh_ ) to have it here with her now, so she could set it off right in Akechi's face.

Just a couple of shots of air would probably do the trick. That's always been more than enough to send Mona scurrying away.

_Pssssht! Pssssht! Bad Akechi!_

Uh oh.

He's looking at her weird – probably because she's just sitting here, grinning to herself, and not acknowledging what he said.

Awkward.

It's all good though, because Ren's support skill has finally charged enough for him to swoop in and save the day.

"Goro," he says, taking Akechi by the arm and pulling him away gently, "give Futaba some space, she knows what she's doing."

"I don't think that I said anything that implied otherwise?" Akechi protests as they go.

Ren gives her a discreet thumbs up behind Akechi's back, and she sends him a small salute in return.

 _Okay_! 

Back to it!

Other than the camera's, she doesn't think that she's going to get much else out of the security system. The only other part of it that seems like it might be useful, maybe, is the fire alarm, and that probably isn't an option, because that would just draw _more_ potential witnesses…

On a hunch, she decides to check and see if the dude's cell phone is on the same WiFi as the PC at his desk.

And yep, of course it is.

Maybe she can find a family member's name in here, and they can call and pretend that they're contacting him from a school… or a hospital? She doesn't feel great about the idea, and the others probably wouldn't go for it anyways, but it _would_ get him away from the desk...

She decides to set that option to 'last resort', for now, and opens his camera roll.

Oh…

 _Wow_.

The phone is _full_ of pictures of his cat, like _'this guy has probably had to go out and buy extra memory for his phone, just to fit more cat pictures on it'_ kind of full.

Well, that's their in!

"You're up, Mona!"

Morgana had been grooming himself, doing that gross, cat thing where he licks his own butt, but he jolts into a normal sitting position at the sound of his name. Everyone else turns to look at her at the same time, and it's still kind of hard not to flinch at suddenly being the centre of attention, but she's really built up her resistance stat since she became a Phantom Thief, so she manages to keep her cool.

It helps that Ren is here.

She tries not to think about the fact that he'll be gone by this time tomorrow.

Her plan is pretty straightforward, D rank at most (or maybe it just feels simple compared to the triple S rank ones they've pulled off before), but still, exposition is _hard_ , so she spins her laptop on her knees so that they can all see the dude's cat pictures, and the building's floor plan. That way they can fill in some of the gaps themselves, while she pitches her idea.

"O-okay, so this dude is like, totally obsessed with cats, right? So I figure that Mona can kite him away from the desk, and into this-" she taps the little box on the floor plan, "-back room."

"’Kite’?" Haru asks, confused.

"Uh, s-sorry, _lure_ him away."

"So Mona-chan distracts this man, and we sneak upstairs?" 

"Pretty much, yeah, I'll take care of everything else."

"How will Morgana know when to follow us?" Makoto steps forward to lean down and look closely at the screen, "there are four flights of stairs, and a long hallway, between the lobby and Akechi-kun's apartment."

"Yeah, it, um, gets a little messy after that, but look-" Futaba switches the window with all the cat pictures to the one with the security feeds, "-there's a clock in the back room… so if Mona can just put up with some pats for like, ten minutes, tops,” Morgana makes a huffing noise in the back of his throat, but Futaba keeps powering on, because she’s worried that she won’t be able to get it all out if she stops now. “That should give us plenty of time to get into the apartment… and Mona's fast, it shouldn't be hard for him to outrun some old guy…"

"What if Ogawa-san decides to check the security cameras to see where his new _feline friend_ has disappeared to? Surely that will expose the fact that the footage has been tampered with?" Akechi asks, and Futaba has to hand it to him, because she had almost forgotten about that little detail herself. 

Almost.

"I’ve got it covered," she says, "just gotta replace the feed, get into your apartment, then restore the original feed for the lobby and like, the first two floors. The camera's on the stairs have a lot of blind spots… so it will look like Mona disappeared somewhere around there. It'll look weird, but the blind spots mean that there'll be no reason for him to suspect the cameras, or have any idea where Mona really went.”

"What about when we have to take our leave this evening?" Inari asks, "won't we have to sneak past this gentleman again?"

Futaba opens her mouth to answer, but Akechi speaks before she has the chance. Shocker. "Assuming that you're all happy enough to wait – the management company only has a concierge work the front desk until around ten o'clock, if I recall correctly."

Everyone is silent for a couple of seconds, and she feels the self-satisfaction that comes with knowing that she really _must_ have accounted for everything, if nobody else (Makoto or Akechi. She means Makoto or Akechi) is jumping in with more questions. 

"I don't like it," Mona grumbles, "it's not... _dignified_."

Futaba bites her lip against the urge to point out that he was literally licking his own butthole, like, five minutes ago.

"Sounds good to me!" Ann chips in, "it's about time that someone else had to do something like this! And at least _you_ don't have to strip!"

Mona flinches, and his ears go flat against his skull. Futaba can almost see the damage counter ticking down above his head. Critical hit! There's some splash damage too, because Inari always looks kind of put out when he’s reminded of the fact that Ann hadn't actually wanted to pose for him.

Savage.

Ryuji hums and scratches at the back of his head. "MonaMona's _already_ naked though, right? He couldn't strip, even if he wanted to..."

Morgana makes a spluttering sound, and is obviously starting to get himself worked up into fluffy-ball-of-rage mode. Futaba knows (from experience) that they're all only seconds away from getting dragged into some dumb argument between these two boneheads – but then Ren stands up straight, from where he was leaning against the wall, and everyone is suddenly paying attention. 

"It's a good plan-" he says, flashing her a smile that makes her feel almost as warm and fuzzy as a pat on the head would have, and then he turns to Mona. "-and it's the best option that we have, Morgana."

He doesn't say anything like _'we're doing it_ ', or _'that's the end of the discussion_ ' (and he probably never would), but he doesn't have to.

Mona de-puffs and sighs, "Yeah, okay, but you guys owe me _so much_ sushi."

They go over the plan one more time, although Futaba isn’t really sure why they’re _all_ crowded around, and listening so intently, when it’s really just going to be her and Mona that are doing all the work.

It only gets more cramped once Mona crosses the street and enters the building, with everyone huddling close around her laptop to watch the camera feed from the lobby. They're all so squished together that she's nearly surprised that they're not clipping into each other.

"It's fortuitous that Ogawa-san always insists on propping the door open to let the fresh air in, rain or shine," Akechi mutters, from somewhere above her head, "I doubt that Morgana would have been able to open it himse-"

" _Shh_!" Makoto hisses, with the force of a souped-up librarian. Futaba can't quite stop herself from snickering, and it sounds like Ryuji has the same problem. " _Morgana is approaching the desk_!"

They watch as Mona trots across the lobby, reaches the desk, and there's no audio, but it's pretty obvious that he just starts yelling his furry little head off.

The old dude at the desk jerks so suddenly in his seat that he almost falls out of it and goes splat on the floor, but other than that, this part of the plan goes off without a hitch, even if it is kind of cringey, watching Mona get nearly glomped to death.

Once their target is in the back room and out of the lobby, Futaba quickly substitutes all of the camera feeds, closes her laptop, and gives Ren a thumbs up.

"It's Showtime," Ren grins, so _Joker_ that she can almost see his mask, and it should be _totally lame_ , but he somehow makes it work. 

He always does.

The perks of having a maxed out charisma stat.

The next part of the plan passes in a sweaty, out of breath, blur for Futaba. Running in the real world is _way_ harder than doing it in the metaverse, and there are _a lot_ of stairs. Even when they'd been grinding in Mementos, running up and down all those escalators, she'd always been able to hitch a ride inside of her persona if she was feeling really wiped.

By the time that they finally reach the floor that Akechi’s stupid apartment is on, her blood is a loud rush in her ears, and she's actually seeing spots. Her hand is shaking pretty badly when she reaches up to pull her glasses off her face, so she can mop up the worst of the sweat with the sleeve of her hoodie, and when she puts them back on, an open bottle of Dr Salt Neo has materialised in front of her face. She grabs it, and has downed a good third of it (dragging her HP bar up from flashing red, to a slightly less urgent orange), before she actually registers that it didn’t just appear out of thin air, and that Haru had actually offered it to her.

"Are you alright, Futaba-chan?"

"Thanks, Haru-" she stops to take another swig of sweet, liquid energy, "-just need to sit down."

And _hoo boy,_ does she need to sit down, before her head, or her heart, or her lungs, or all of the above, explode! Boom! Like a disaster shadow– but for some reason, there's a hold-up.

She turns to the beautiful, generous cleric at her side. "What's going on?"

Haru hums and taps her chin with one finger. "Honestly, I'm not sure..."

So Futaba pushes herself back to standing, ignoring the way her legs wobble in protest as she does, and makes her way to the door, just in time to catch the end of the conversation between Ren and Akechi.

"-sure they weren't there before?"

"Yes! What kind of question- _of course_ I'm sure! And you're surprisingly naïve for someone so experienced with lock picks-"

"I've never picked a lock outside of the metaverse, it's not the same." Ren shrugs at Akechi's eye roll, and turns to look at her. "Futaba, you said that nobody's been in and out of here for weeks, right?"

"Uh, yeah…" she answers, eyeing the nasty gouges all around the keyhole. "It should be safe now… I think."

Akechi squints at her, dubiously, for a handful of _very uncomfy_ seconds, before he sighs and slides his key into the lock.

It must be stiff from being messed with, because Akechi has to _really_ twist the key to get it to turn, and even push at the door with his shoulder a couple of times, before it actually pops open.

She's still close enough that she hears him mutter something that sounds like _'let's get this over with_ ' under his breath as he marches inside, not waiting to see it the rest of them follow.

Edgy.

"You go on in, and do what you need to do with the cameras," Ren says to her as the others file past them, "I'll wait here for Morgana."

Oh crud, yeah, she needs to change the feeds again, doesn't she? 

"G-got it!" she stammers, as she scurries in after the rest of them, already pulling her phone out of her pocket, and opening the remote desktop app, so she can do what she needs to do, without having to take her laptop back out of her bag.

Just a couple of taps and the cameras for the lobby and the first two floors are restored.

She's walking into the apartment, wondering if Mona is going to start making his way up to meet them soon, when she walks right into Yusuke, and nearly drops her phone.

"Hey, Inari! What's the big de-"

Her mouth snaps shut as she catches sight of the interior of the apartment.

It’s like a bomb went off in here, and not in the same 'messy teenager' way it used to when she was looking at it from the other end of a webcam.

Everything has been pulled from the kitchen cupboards and drawers, and swept off the countertops. A handful of plates, bowls, and cups lie scattered, chipped and broken, amongst all of the books and papers that used to be piled on top of every available surface. They nearly cover the entire floor, spread all around like the newspaper her mom used to put in the bottom of her budgie's cage. And it's not just the kitchen. Akechi's clean clothes (the only thing that Futaba can remember seeing him keep even _kind of_ tidy), have also been pulled off their hangers, and out of drawers – left in a big pile near the end of his bed. His mattress is kind of crooked too, like it had been lifted, and then just dropped haphazardly back into place.

Even the kotatsu has been tipped over, exposing the heater underneath.

Yikes.

They're all just standing there, staring, like their collective OS has crashed, when Ann speaks up.

"Hey, Goro…" He jolts at the sound of his name. "Don't worry about it, okay? We'll help you clean up, and I'm sure that you usually keep the place super neat, right?"

Futaba laughs before she can stop herself (because _oh my god_ , if only any of them knew what this place usually looks like), and Akechi whirls around to glare at her, just as she scrambles to hide behind Inari. The manic, but also weirdly _victorious_ , glint in his eye tells her everything she needs to know about whether he's figured out that she was watching him.

 _Double yikes_.

"What is happening?" her shield asks, twisting to look back at her, and almost exposing her again in the process.

Mona chooses that exact moment to come barrelling into the apartment at top speed (followed by Ren, at a much more relaxed pace), "I'm never doing that again!" he yowls, "that guy smelled funny, and he was petting me way too hard, and- _what the heck happened in here_?!"

"Shido’s men were obviously looking for _something_ ," Akechi answers, and it sounds like he's been successfully distracted by Hurricane Mona, so Futaba figures that she’s probably safe. For now.

“Any ideas about what they were trying to find?” Ren has, somehow, already crossed the room, and is standing beside Akechi. Sometimes Futaba wonders if he can teleport.

“A clue as to where I'd gone, I suppose?" Akechi shrugs with one shoulder and sighs deeply, rubbing at his temple, like he's nursing the beginnings of a headache. "Shido must have been furious, but even though they turned this place upside down, it doesn't look like this was done to send a message."

"Yeah, man, the TV's not even smashed up or anythin'," Ryuji says, looking around the room and scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor.

"Ryuji…" Ann says, softly.

Oof…

Yeah, out of all of them, Ryuji would definitely know what it's like to have someone trash your place as a scare tactic.

Why do so many of them have shitty dads? 

Futaba often thinks that life is kind of like a gacha game, the RNG is merciless, and you definitely get way more pulls if you have money. She knows that she really lucked out with Sojiro. 

The atmosphere is kind of heavy now (something that keeps happening, ever since Akechi came back, like he has a passive skill that drags their mood modifiers down through sheer proximity), but Ryuji rolls his shoulders, pulls up his sleeves, and reaches down to grab the edge of the toppled kotatsu.

"C'mon guys, let's do this!"

And it's like a forced reboot, everyone unfreezes and starts picking stuff up too. Ann and Ren help Akechi in the bedroom area of the apartment (occasionally, Futaba hears Ann being super enthusiastic about the brand of some of his clothes, or skincare products), while the rest of them take care of the kitchen and the living area.

Now that they're all busy, it gives Futaba the opportunity to properly look around. It's strange to see the apartment from anything other than the angle she was used to. The laptop that she'd used to spy on him is nowhere to be seen, the little side table that it was on is bare, and she wonders if Shido's mooks took it. If they did, they must have let the battery drain completely, because she'd never been able to get back into it after Ren asked her to start looking into Akechi again in February.

Joke's on them though, because she knows that there was jack all on it, and there definitely wasn't anything that would explain his disappearance. It's not like he planned to have his butt kicked by them, and then get merked by Discount Akechi.

There are lots of other little things around the place that nobody else would notice, small parts of the damage that she knows are actually from his colossal meltdown after he thought that he'd killed Ren. There's the cupboard door that's slightly loose on its hinges, the fact that he has almost no glassware and only a couple of other dishes (because he'd smashed the rest), and she can even see the ghost of a grease stain on the ceiling, where his take out container had exploded after he'd kicked it like he was channelling a character from some crappy sports manga.

He might have figured out that she'd been watching him, but there's no reason to let him know _how much_ she saw. For lots of reasons. And only some of them are selfish, because she knows that _she_ would die of embarrassment if someone had been spying on her when she was at her lowest.

And also, y'know, the fapping.

Nope! _No_! She _does not_ want to think about that now!

Futaba throws herself into the task at hand, to keep her wandering brain focused on something less dangerous, and she's picking school books, and notes, up off the floor in front of the TV when something catches her eye. 

There's something, around the size of a shoebox, half hidden under an open Manila folder. Curiosity piqued, she sets her pile of books aside, so that she can reach out and pick it up.

It's a clear plastic box – no, it's actually a perspex display case, the one that she remembers seeing, through the webcam, given pride of place in the centre of his kotatsu. 

The model raygun inside is even nicer in person.

It doesn't seem like it took any damage in the fall, although there _is_ some surface scuffing on the gun, but that looks old, like it had probably been played with, a lot, before finding itself on display.

"My mother bought it for me," Akechi says, from right beside her.

Futaba jumps and yelps, heart rate skyrocketing up to what feels like something in the region of a bajillion beats per second. She nearly drops (okay, nearly _throws_ ) the box, but Akechi's quick, and he steadies it before it can fly out of her, suddenly very sweaty, palms.

"I-i-i-it's really c-cool!" she stutters, as she pushes it entirely into the safety of his hands, not trusting herself to hold it anymore. 

It's bad enough that she nearly yeeted such an amazing collectable across the room, but it's also a Dead Mom Gift? Geez.

"It's such a stupid thing, but I wanted it so badly… She must have saved for it for months," he continues, all wistful, like that time he came to Leblanc, months ago, and info dumped about his mom all over their counter. "It’s probably the only thing in this apartment that I care about, honestly."

He swipes his thumb over the clear plastic in an affectionate arch, and it hits her like a punch, right in the feels.

What the heck?

He was giving her the evil eye just a few minutes ago, and now he's being all relatable?

“I’m glad that it’s okay,” Akechi smiles at her, and the fact that it’s not a full-on slasher grin _or_ his creepy little ‘ **^-^** ’ face, catches her completely off guard.

"M-me too…"

“Hey, Goro?” Ren calls, sounding a little like he’s trying not to laugh, as he strolls over, cutting right through whatever weird moment she was sharing with his dweeby boyfriend, “I’ve got two questions for you.”

“Oh? Do you now?” Akechi is suspicious. Futaba doesn’t blame him. 

“First,” Ren holds up one finger, “do you actually own a single pair of pants that don’t need to be pressed before you wear them?” It’s an obvious warm-up for whatever the second thing is, and he hardly pauses at all for Akechi’s ‘no, of course not,’ before he holds up another finger, while also pulling something (small, black, and strappy) out of his pocket with his other hand. “And second, seriously, are these _sock garters_?”

Akechi is saying something, probably some thoroughly researched and well-thought-out argument for why that’s a normal thing for an eighteen year old to own, but Futaba can’t hear him over the wheeze of her own breath as she tries not to burst out laughing.

“Haru said there’s a name for it, you know?” Ren continues, smiling innocently, “for the way you dress, I mean.”

“I don’t want to know,” Akechi grits out.

Ren’s smile has sharpened into a grin. “Grandpa Core.”

She can’t hold it in anymore, and the laugh forces its way out of her lungs in a really dumb-sounding honk, but she doesn’t care. _Oh my god. Grandpa Core._

“Give me the garters, Ren,” Akechi says, dangerously calm, “I’m going to strangle you with them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this getting too fluffy?
> 
> I've been feeling pretty shitty, and I think that the fluff is some kind of defence mechanism, ha.
> 
> Also, maybe it's just me, but men's sock garters are kind of hot, right? No? Just me...? I'll see myself out.
> 
> I'm on Twitter! Come yell at me about Shuake! [@CloudMenaceBird](https://twitter.com/CloudMenaceBird/)


End file.
